Twilight for Anonymous
by regertz
Summary: Buffy the Vampire Slayer tale, set in a past life of Buffy's and William's. It's likely to be "Twilight" for "Anonymous" when Vampire Slayer Anne Hathaway Shakespeare learns that a certain "soulful" vampiral Earl is out to steal her husband's work.
1. Chapter 1

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Summary: In the age of Shakespeare, a rather too invisible figure and a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire each gets their much-deserved desserts…

London… 1599…

A prosperous and bustling city for the most part, by the standards of the age, despite some recent downturns economically. England at peace and, despite its isolation as a Protestant power in a largely Catholic Europe, reasonably secure now that the power of Spain has been blunted by the failure of her Grand Armada invasion and she and the other great Catholic powers, France and the Holy Roman Empire, occupied by a mix of Continental rivalries and religious strife. A peace and prosperity secured by the stable rule of her Queen, Elizabeth I, acknowledged, enthusiastically by some, with grim reluctance by others here and across Europe, as a wise and shrewd ruler who has delicately balanced all factions, friends, and enemies, foreign and domestic, with great skill. That stability beginning to fray as the Queen ages, childless, her current would-very much-be successor a foreigner, the Scottish king, James, and factions of restless, ambitious men form and reform about her throne. She herself increasingly prey to anxiety and even a degree of fear, knowing these young hot-heads, viewing her as old and out-of-date, long for a new ruler, preferably male.

A city experiencing an explosion in cultural matters. The religious fervor of the past century leading to the triumph of a moderate State-controlled Protestantism, though the triumph of the State Church had by no means smothered extremist factions, has led to a huge increase in literacy as the Bible has become easily available in English, dispersed in printed form leading to an explosion of pamphleteering and earnest study. That study, moving quickly from religious matters to political and social…Has become a common hobby of the middle classes, even among the working poor. One can't walk and endure the piss and ordure mix of the mire of the streets without someone offering to thrust the latest scribblings on all sorts of matters into your hands. The ragamuffin eyeing you is as likely to want to offer you or even discuss some new pamphlet he's found in the muck as to rob or beg of you. And that explosion has spread to the arts, particularly the theater… The new learning and literacy has provided an audience to a new generation of poets and playwrights not content with the old themes, largely religious, and the limited characterizations of the past. New, vibrant, and exciting works grace the stages of London, with competition fierce and audiences increasingly sophisticated and demanding. The theater now, with some caution, discusses matters unheard of before…Even the divine right of kings has been examined, to the growing concern of the State.

A city in ferment as cautious talk is anxiously passed throughout the narrow and dark streets of a possible coup d'état by a leading member of the nobility…The Queen's once-beloved favorite, the dashing, generally charming, but willful and vain, Robert Deveraux, Lord Essex, stepson of the man nearest to a husband to her, the late, much-lamented Robert Dudley. A man whose earnest and hard-learned lessons to his stepson in pleasing their loving but temperamental and demanding Queen, on whose favor their families' fortunes vitally depended, had failed to fully take root. Young Lord Essex had learnt to exude his universally admitted personal charm but never accepted the need for patience and forbearance. Some, among them his rivals of the Cecil family and faction, would say his charm being that of the spoiled pet child, quickly turning to rancor and fury when practicalities and common sense caused his audience, including his royal patron, to deny him anything he fancied. His incompetence while campaigning in Ireland against Catholic rebels having been matched only by his presumption in ennobling members of his entourage there without royal permission, the Queen had, in fury, recently cut him off from various sources of financial supply including a monopoly formerly granted him on imports of popular sweet wines. Facing ruin and denied any further access to the Queen, he was rumored to be heeding dangerous council and making plans that bordered, even crossed, the line of treason.

And a city with an underworld…Not only confined to the roving bands of snatch thieves, beggar-thieves, professional thieves, whores, and murderers for hire, all types often employed by surprisingly well-established persons, but to those unhuman, however human-seeming, who threaten the existence of Humanity.

…..

The reasonable for the time lodgings of a famed master playwright…No, not him…There are more playwrights than Will Shakespeare in London, you know. Whitewashed and mud clay daubed walls, low ceiling, surprisingly clean floor…This be a properly kept establishment, fit for a sort of gentleman of reasonable if sometimes disturbingly modest means…

However, the current situation finding the said master of his craft regrettably and annoyingly concerned with the before-mentioned Mr. Shakespeare…

Damn…Must it all be about him these days? And must the little bastard from Stratford have everything for a bit of minor talent and a way with the crowd?

"Now…" shrewd look…From a dark-haired man in his late twenties, who, leaning back on his stool, eyes his visitor. A large, rather buxom, ravens'-haired beauty, her age, her early forties, not detracting a whit from…A beauty not only well-known to him, but desperately desired…

To the point of both the most fiendish evil and the most bitter jealousy…

"…I don't say I know who might be layin' claim to Will's work, lass. But…"

"Lad…You'll be tellin' me or you'll be pickin' splinters from that cup out of yer teeth…" the addressed woman notes, coldly. Advancing…

Hmmn…The man eyes his approaching foe. Brown eyes with that odd hint of green, flashing…Short, sharp hewn to a fine point, stake clenched in capable right hand…

And knowing as I do just how capable she might well be of doing that…

"Well…For the sake of me two dearest friends in this world of England…" Ben begins.

"Jonson…Cut to the quick of it…Or I'll be breakin' that money-makin' hand of yours faster than my Will could say 'Romeo, oh wherefore…'"

Ouch…Witch…She would rub it in about "her" Will's latest blockbuster…

Well, a silly romance always gets the groundlings blubbering. And throw in a couple of foolishly open-hearted, teenaged lovers…

"Now dearest Annie…" he eyes his dearly desired, the spouse of his great foe…

"…As your Will's closet friend…And an artist of the first rank…"

"'Oh…'" she begins, seizing his hand. "… 'Romeo'…"

Arggh… "DeVere…Edward DeVere…Anne, I and the world need that hand, girl…"

She releases, arch look…Followed by puzzled one…

"Oxford?...That twit? The toff would-be poet who hired Will to write a sonnet for him?"

"So they say…But hey, last week 'they' were saying it was Marlowe doing all of Will's writing…" Jonson notes.

"Ay…They did…" So thank God for the English Secret Service, its efficiently brutal chief, Walsingham, and our ruthless Queen eliminatin' that little problem…

No offense, Chris, but the playwritin' tis' a tough business…

And we all urged ye to keep clear of the politics and espionage game…

"But…DeVere…?" she frowns. "I thought, perhaps Essex…Or one of the others in his circle. Everyone knows this fellow's a silly..."

"Not since he read that sonnet at Court…And I gather your Will kept his word not to say a word…"

"One…And one decidedly second-rate poem among his catalog of hits…Let out to that young dolt and some are ready to believe…?"

"Eh…Last month, I told some fool in a tavern, as a joke whilst I was…A bit incapacitated, that it was the Queen herself writing my plays. And for the rest of that month…"

"I remember…Well, what you deserved then, knowin' they'd said the same last year about Will…"

"So, where is the lad? Not willin' to stand for his work, he sends you here to take up for him?"

"We discussed it…"

Cut to shot of William Shakespeare, bound and gagged in his London rooms…

"…But no way I'm lettin' him put himself at risk, confrontin' this sort of thing. He's the source of the family wealth, Ben…Can't have him in prison or worse for upsettin' some courtier with friends, who might not even be the right man…"

Besides…A bound and trussed Will Shakespeare is a faithful Will Shakespeare…For a day or two at least…

Hmmn…

"Anne…" Hopeful tone… "If that truly be the only reason…" Careful eyeing of the lace of her bosom's swell…

"Pish off, you…" frown. "Ben Jonson…You know I love Will alone…"

"Annie…After all we've meant to each other?"

"I'll be breakin' that hand now…"

"Anne…Fine, fine…" Jonson glares but pulls back hand…

Perhaps after she met that popinjay when she did tell me to never darken her doorframe again there was a hidden meaning there after all…

Well…Ben Jonson shall yet have his vengeance. Even if tis to be served both cold and rather late…300 years or so from now, in fact, if that damned pretty piece of a "justice demon", that sweet, if rather deadly, Anya comes through true…What was it now?…He's to be reborn as the world's worst poet…And dear Anne cursed to doom him to unendin' suffering…?

Nice…He smiled inwardly…

"What?" Anne eyed his beaming, contented face…

Oops…That was meant to stay inwardly…

"Uh…Just thinking on how best to punish that worthless snot of an aristocrat…For my good friend's sake." Ben, innocently.

Right…I believe that…Anne frowned.

After all, someone had to have smuggled Oxford a copy of Will's other works for him to be claiming authorship so boldly…

….

Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex, stepson of Her Royal Majesty's late beloved Robert Dudley, royal (currently ex-) favorite, pacing room…Pausing to eye his majestic self in a long mirror, feeling moustache acquired during his recent campaign…The only badge of honor in the sorry affair…Carefully and proudly…Pulling at stuck fold of sleeve, then smoothing.

My God, I'm beautiful. He turns and frowns at his guest, reclining on a long chair…

"Edward? Are you sure this work will do the job?"

Languid stare, shrug, off-hand wave of languid hand emerging from ruffled sleeve…

"My dear Robert…" Edward DeVere, taken by all to be the current heir to the Earldom of Oxford, rather than the sole and immortal holder of said title that he was in truth…Smiles gently.

Poor spoiled baby…Unable to see the wolves at your heels and the fiend traitor in your bosom…

How did a sharp fellow like Dudley ever manage to produce such an offspring? "Step"-son indeed…Though if the rumors are actually false it might explain things.

"…Our friend Shakespeare's 'Richard II' will do for the occasion…An anointed king, foolish and rather disliked but hardly a brute tyrant, overthrown and deposed. It's just what we want to convince our people the old Queen can be shaken…"

"Yes…" Essex paces further. "Yes…But of course, shaken…I want her just shaken, you know. Forced to see that I am her only true protector and worthy advisor…"

"Of course…" Edward nods, repressing smile.

"Even if my very life weighs in the balance I should never violate my oath…"

Uh-huh…Somehow I wouldn't place great bets on ole Eliza's life if we should succeed…But, she'll probably offer him some equally worthless promises of safely and forgiveness, if it comes to that…

Either way blood will follow…To my benefit, both practically and of the spirit…

Ah, politics…I love it so…

"But when does the fellow come to receive our charge? And the alterations we considered to add to the topicality of the play?"

"Shortly, Robert…Shortly…After all, the man is a hit playwright…His time is valuable and his schedule, generally impossible. But for those good friends of ample coin and influence in the realm…"

"Are we, Essex and Oxford, two peerless high nobles of this isle, to await the pleasure of some nobody wordschopper?" Essex fumes.

"The crowds we hope to influence to our side wouldn't say so…" DeVere notes.

"Bah…You place too much faith in the crowd, Edward. It is a fickle mistress and will bite…Hard…When annoyed or perceiving itself spurned…"

Someone will, in any case…Oxford inwardly smiles. Brushing a loose hair down…


	2. Chapter 2

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, .com or direct to story at www. ...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part II…

London…

City lodgings of a certain famed playwright…Currently indisposed…

Anne Shakespeare, striding rather fiercely…Stake in hand…As Ben Jonson, having followed her at her "request", watches her from a stool. Occasionally eyeing the currently indisposed William, still bound and trussed in chair…

"It's the cause…It is the cause…Name it not, will I, bein' a good wife and mother." she pauses, eyeing William in his chair…

Hmmn…He eyes her back…

You know, that rather makes for a nice scene there, with the pacing and touch of a frenzied…

"…Nor in front of company…" she frowns at Jonson.

Hey…You brought me here, lass…

"…If I ever thought…" she glares at Will. "Any of them tales were true…About those women…"

Lord…Burbage's been shooting his mouth off again…Will sighs inwardly.

Tries soulfully innocently look…Annie…

"Anyway…" she nervously waves. "We've more to concern with here…How could you be lettin' some twit nobility be stealin' your work and passin' it as his own, Will?"

Think of the family in any case…Our girls…Little Hamnet…The potential loss of all their future hopes, she eyes him.

"Will?...A man like Oxford? You'd let him lay claim to your work?" she fumes.

Hmmn?...He tries exaggerated puzzled stare…

Oxford?...Steal…?

"Everyone in Strafford's heard tell of the claims…It's humiliatin', Will. Why else…Apart from missin' ye (and the natural desire to be sure me London-based spouse is really spendin' 24/7 on nothing but the family business during the theatrical season, she did not say)…Would I be spendin' the dear moneys for such a trip…Leavin' our girls with me parents…Abandoning the Hellmouth of Strat…"

Ummn…She pauses, blinking at the puzzled Jonson.

"…abandoning them to the hell of Strafford, alone." she lamely and hastily corrects. "Unless it was so dire for the family cause. What were ye thinkin', William?"

Well?...She eyes him.

Oh, right…Pulling cloth from mouth…

"Sorry…But what be ye thinkin' Will? What moneys could he offer so worth giving away yer birthright…?"

And if ye have a figure, lets have it…With breakdown of all costs to be met, includin' Hamnet's tuition at Cambridge. She eyes him with frown…

"Anne…" William gasped, a bit out of breath… "I've not…"

"No?" she eyes him…Beaming look… "Not betrayed me with the easy-virtued ladies of London and yer own foul stage? Or not sold our future? Or…(even better)…Both?"

Hmmn…Well…Definitely not #2 but as to #1?

Still, no need to get bogged down in detail…

"Uh, no…Dear…" he replies.

Which said, could naturally cover either/or…

She eyes him squarely… "Truly?"

"I've never sold Oxford anything but that little sonnet…"

Frown…Boy, you know damned well that wasn't the question I had in mind…

Still, the practical must take precedence here…

"Right then…I've need to speak a word in the ear of one Edward Dever then…"

"DeVere…" Jonson, helpfully.

"Whatever…"

"Ben?..." Shakespeare looks over. "Why the devil are you here?"

"Why who else would dear Anne turn to in the circumstance?" Jonson, snidely. "You being occupied…"

Will eyeing a now somewhat-tables-turned Anne. She, a sheepish expression…Ummn…

"Man does know about me other profession, Will…" she tries. "Even knows our dear boy yet lives, hidden."

"Exactly…" Ben, smugly.

And was it not I who suggested the hiding from those in the know who'd dearly love to use a Slayer's son for their heinous blood sacrifice?

"No reason to bring him along to see me trussed like a goose…Or a patient for the stone cut…" Will, frowning.

"He'll say naught…If he knows what's best for him." Anne, grim nod.

"Already forgotten, friends…" Ben, spreading hands, benevolent smile…

"But as to Oxford…I don't think Anne should be charging in to threaten him. He's a powerful man with connections at Court…"

"Connections of dubious worth now…" Will notes.

"Queen still loves Essex like the idiot son she (probably) never had with Dudley." Jonson shakes head. "She'll not tolerate his friends abused by the ordinary folk. However extra-ordinary they may be…" he adds hastily to Anne's glare.

"What?" Anne stares… "Is he in trouble with the Court now as well?"

Just what we need…The family business shut down because some fool drags our work into his mud…

"They say…And 'they' are pretty well placed to know…" Will notes. "That he and Essex are up to no good…Trying to gain sole access to the Queen, possibly even more…"

"More?...How much more…?"

Jonson portrays chopping of head with head… "That much more, if they're caught…"

"Holy Jesus…" Anne crosses herself. "Will, what have you got us mixed up in?"

"Me…?" Shakespeare blinks.

Say could you? He holds up bound hands…Really can't express the emotion without the hands…

She frowns, but undoes rope…

"As I say…I've done nothing of the sort. Sweetheart, you know I'm not political, excepting of course…"

"Will!..." Anne, hastily.

Since they know I know about the Undead killin' thing, Hamnet's safe haven, and all that, I'd guess it's the closet Catholicism she's in a dither about…Jonson thinks, watching contentedly.

All grist to me mill, that's for sure…

"…Well, I'm not political. I've done nothing for or with Oxford to give cause for the Court to be angry with me. No more have I done for you, girl…" solemnly innocent look.

"I'm sure I'm wantin' to believe that, William Shakespeare…" she begins.

A sharp knock at the door to the rooms catching her in mid-chastisement…

….

Wardrobe room of the Chamberlain's Men at the Globe Theater, Southwark district of London…

"Tis fine stiching…Here…" toss of coin, caught in mid-air.

Quick bite of said coin…Ah, the real thing…Warm smile…

"Thanks for your custom, Master Hemings." hasty pocketing of coin.

"Miss Jenkins…" Hemings, bow with flourish suiting a lead actor of the company…

Anya Jenkins, seamstress to the company, a position secured by both her talent and her friendship with Anne Shakespeare, nodding in return…

"Wilt it be Sir John for you this next time?" she asked. Hemings shrugging…

"Lord knows lass. But our Will is at work on something. Hope it's more of Falstaff…That fat knight is a sure box office draw. Still, with Master Shakespeare, who knows…He's been getting' temperamental of late. Wantin' to do more in the line of Art I hear…"

"I'd thought he'd done such…" she blinked. "That last one with the Italian kids was simply beautiful…"

"One might've hoped the lad would've purged such sentiments from his system with that…" Hemings sighed. "He's a practical man generally, is our Will, but the craze for his stuff may be going to his head…He talks till one might be tempted to go drown oneself in a butt of wine about the need to 'go further'…Further, he says. As if we've put all thought of profit and security to rest and have sacks of gold and silver in the cellar to allow us indulgence of any whim we so desire…"

"Still, the man is a genius, John…" Anya noted. "And his darkness of late has grounding…" respectfully mournful tone.

"God bless the poor child." Hemings, shrugging. "So he tells us as to the genius…Constantly…Though…" smile. "A bird or two have said…Confidentially…That all his inspiration comes from other sources than the bottle…"

"I should hope so…" Anya, frowning. "Wait? You're not giving precedence to the rumors about someone else…?"

"And kill the goose before the eggs is laid? Girl, give me credit…" Hemings frowned. "I'll just be sayin' there are…Rumors…"

"Well, I'm not believin' 'em. And if you know what's best for you, John Hemings…"

He put up his hands in a peaceful gesture…Lass…

"I've no wish to see such tales spread. I'm merely sayin'…Where there be smoke…Sometimes…There be...A fellow puffin' on the Indian pipe…"

She shook her head. Hemings, grinning, turned and left.

Hmmn…She sighed…

Well, not my job to dispel rumors about the authenticity of Mr. Will Shakespeare's works…

In fact, rather more my job to encourage such, I suppose…

Though, I am here for now merely as an observer. D-H having been clear on the set-up of Mr. J's revenge portfolio. No action till 1858 when Mr. Shakespeare's reincarnated self takes the earthly field…

Just have to see no one gives warning…Say some victim of Mrs. S's stake with a desire to win points with the Slayer by alerting her. Or some well-meaning psychic or soothsayer…One can't be too careful in a long-term project like this…

I mean Livia's vengeance scheme for the Roman Empire took nearly 1500 years to bring to full fruition. With plenty of opportunity to throw the whole thing off-track…

Seems a shame though about these rumors…Denying poor Will his just due as a great author and handing the laurel to some jerk with a fancy old name. Not to mention it could lessen the effect of our own scheme…I mean if he never becomes the world's most famous author, what's so bad about being reborn as the world's worst poet…

And the current seeker for the mantle…That dork DeVere.

Slimy little wuss with that phony soulful manner…Well, he'd best never let Annie catch up with him…That glam of his will never fool a Slayer as capable as she…

"Seamstress!..."

"Comin', Mr. Burbage…!" she called.

Never a break in this job…D-H should award me extra credit…


	3. Chapter 3

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, .com or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part III…

London lodging of William Shakespeare…The city base and home away from home of England's most popular (subject to (often violent) dispute by rivals) playwright…

The knocking at the door proving not to be as feared, agents of the Queen, intent on ferreting out any potential threats to the blessed stability of Elizabeth's reign…But as the surprise visiting, (fretting over reports of rumored attempts by mysterious well-placed persons to claim credit for her husband's work…And over reports of Will's 'activities' among London's fair sex.), Anne Shakespeare noted, first inwardly, and then with impatience (What, am I the dim serving wench now?) to her closet-concealed husband and his colleague/competitor (tis best till we know what's about here, girl…And we haven't finished untying Will yet…), Ben Jonson, potentially far worse…

In the form of a rather foppish clerical emissary of the Earl of Oxford, with an insistent note demanding several small but vital scene changes for a previously requested private performance of a slightly older, yet still successful on revival, play, "Richard II"…

"And His Highness the Earl would like these alterations by when?" Anne asked, innocently…

"By tomorrow night…Can he do it? Tis most essential…" the clerk eyed her.

Hmmn, not bad…A bit of a country wench by her browned skin and those firm arms but with a little carriage and reasonable diction…

This fellow Shakespeare likes his serving lassies buxom and dark as well as clever I see. And a little spirit in those brown eyes… Yes, a nice armful…And old enough to know a thing or two…

"Oh, without fail, sir…" she smiled, bowing head slightly.

Hmmn…The clerk looked her over again. She struggling to hold smile at his taking inventory…

It's not who the little twerp is but whom he represents…For Will's and the kids' sake…She told herself.

Not bad, the clerk summed up…Perhaps before I take my leave I might indulge in a little indulgence. No doubt my gracious Lord would approve it as one of the perks of my position…

Still, should actually confirm things with the fellow…The Earl was rather insistent this be ready on time…

"You're sure Master Shakespeare is unavailable…?"

"I'm afraid so, sir…But I will see he gets your letter within the hour."

Shakespeare frowning in the closet. Fellow sounds a bit…Forward…

Hmmn…Hour? Thought the clerk…

Pshaw…Doesn't leave much time for indulgence…Ah well, set things up and when I pick up the completed project, I see to my own fringe benefit…

"All right then…You seem a clever lass…" smile. "And a comely one…" chuck under chin…Pressing small coin in her hand… "Here's something for you now…And a promise of more for us both, later, eh?" wider smile.

Anne, pasting extremely false smile… "Oh, thank you, sir…" slight curtsy.

I'll tolerate a kiss for the greater good but if he goes for the breasts, I'll break his neck and send a boy with my regrets for the sad accident on our dark stairs and a promise as to the work…

("Will…Not now…" Jonson hissed as Shakespeare made for the door…

That little…)

"I must return to the Earl…Til tomorrow, sweet lass…" the clerk turned to go, pausing… "What be thy fair name, girl?"

("For God's sake and our careers, Will!" Jonson, desperately clutching an arm…)

"Anne, sir…"

"Well, Anne…I must return to the Earl to report. Tomorrow night we'll toast your master's success in pleasing mine, eh…?" smirk.

Warm smile...Well, you saved your life for one more day at least, bastard…

Though I'd never say no to a free pitcher of good ale…And a chance to make the Mister Shakespeare shake a bit with jealousy.

"Good night, sir…"

"Anne…" elegant wave…Flourishing sweep of cloak on turn, modeled on his master, DeVere's style. Slam of door on departure…

"All right, the little twit's gone off…!" she called to the closet.

A furious Shakespeare, followed by Jonson, emerging…

"What?" she regarded Will's angry face…Repressed grin…

Nice to see a little of the ole green-eyed monster there, eh?

"You told that…#$%#!...of a messenger boy…That puffed and perfumed popinjay scrivener to a…Popinjay…"

"That you'd be finished by tomorrow night with these alterations…" she offered the letter calmly. "And I'd expected better from my Shakespeare…Really, Will…Popinjay to a popinjay?"

"Anne, you know what I mean. He thinks you're…"

"Unmarried?..." she asked, innocently. "He never asked, you know…"

"Anne…Married or un-…The man will be expectin' you to..."

"Every man lives on expectin'…" she airily shrugged.

I know I do…Jonson thought…

"Come now, Will…Since when can't I handle the likes of that?" she shook her head, light smile. "Have I ever given you cause?…I mean since we were plighted, of course…?"

He frowned but shook his head. "Always a first time, girl…"

"And I might be askin' the same of you, you know…" she noted, a bit grimly.

"You didn't even ask…You simply tied me up." he replied, equally grim…

"That was for yer own and the family's protection…"

"So will I say tomorrow…" he eyed her.

"Will…"

"Let me see the damned thing…" he pointed to the letter in her hand…Which she handed him.

"Changes to my 'Richard II'…? Who the devil does that idiot kid DeVere think he is?"

"He'll be takin' it as his own in a minute if we're not defending your work, love. As I've been tellin' ya…" she noted. "But we need to go along this one time and find out what his game is and what dangers it might pose to us, the innocent bystanders. It could be political, Will…"

"A play about a king forced to abdicate…I'd say it was…" he nodded.

Hmmn…All three regarded each other…

Not something one wants to take lightly in Tudor England. Even if old Eliza's not the maniac her father Henry was…

Spymaster Walsingham at least being inclined to extreme prejudice in defense of his Queen and realm…Particularly with upstart writers and playwrights…And perfectly content to use them…Or their dead or tortured bodies…To send a little warning to that troublesome noble backer who's a bit tough to bring down without a lot of fuss and feathers…

Nice as it was to be taken seriously by important types…Not something even a playwright protected by a Slayer might want to fool with.

"Those two young idiots Essex and Oxford could drag us down to the abyss…Or the chopping block…Or worse…" Shakespeare noted.

"The 'worse' I'd say for the likes of us. Drawing and quartering at least for commoners implicated in treason…" Jonson nodded thoughtfully.

Hmmn…Well, while it would be nice to see a competitor removed from the chessboard, it would increase the risk for us all. And probably take dear Anne as well…And perhaps muck up my own latter-day revenge…

Besides, it's one thing to triumph over my rival in Art and Love on my own, with a bit of supernatural assist…Come to think of it I ought to have demanded a love spell from that vengeance lord…Quite another to see our profession trampled on by some effete aristo…

"All you've to do is alter a few lines, eh Will? Not a big problem…" Anne insisted.

Jonson eyed Shakespeare…Lord, laypeople…They think this stuff just comes rattling out of our brains, writing itself.

"The hell you say, girl…" Will frowned. "This is an intricate work. Pull out or modify one line and the whole structure can crash to the ground…"

"Indeed, Annie…This is no slight task…" Jonson agreed. "And the whole thing is in verse…It's like a fine timepiece, carefully wound…"

"Exactly…Thanks, Ben…" Will nodded, pleased at the support.

Artists…Anne rolled eyes…Especially, male artists. They sure stick together…

"Fine…But can you make the changes and reset the 'timepiece' by tomorrow evening…?"

"Well…"

"Good…Off to it, love…" she pointed to a room in back…

"But…Anne…"

"What? There's much to do, Will…You've your work. I'll need to be about finding out what my people know about DeVere and Essex and their plans. And if there's another reason besides sheer vanity that DeVere might be seeking to claim your work as his own…"

Shakespeare frowning…Anne…

Anne, likewise…Will…

Still, tis a proper division of labour, one must concede, he had to admit to himself…

Lord, all this nonsense over one stupid poem commissioned by one stupid young twit of an earl…

Though it did bring Annie to London… A den of iniquity, however profitable for the family fortunes, she constantly swears never to come to, especially whilst the Stratford Hellmouth and her kiddies demand her attention. I owe that fop DeVere thanks for that at least…

Jonson, seeing an opening, spoke up…

"Mistress Shakespeare is right, Will. Best for her to go out and about…I can provide an escort if you like…"

Anne rolling eyes…I can imagine the help he'd be…

"Anne…You yourself said it might be political. Who's to say it might not be best for me to just leave it be and tell that fool I'm too busy. Besides, you just got here…And tied me up…And left me here to go chasing down Ben here…"

Indeed…Jonson nodded, pondering…

Could be there was some double meanin' in that…

"Will, I came because you didn't write back to my letter about the rumors about your work being claimed of another…"

"You haven't even told me how you and the children are faring…"

"Now, love…Hamnet's yet well and safe with the Beaumonts' man at Cambridge by the last courier, Judy's got a little cold. Suzannah's done a drawing for you…" she reached into the folds of her dress. "Here…" she handed him a scrap of paper…

"She's talented, our Sue…" he beamed at the drawing. "What about Hamnet?" frown. "He was speakin' of giving up school, last letter. Did he take heed of my letters? Playwriting is no profession for him when he has a chance to be a Beaumont and follow in Sir Francis' footsteps as his son and heir." Shaking head.

"Now Will…" she sighed, sensing his sadness.

To lose our only son…And all the fault of mine own and my profession…Bitter indeed even if Will says naught of it.

"He has a chance few boys have…" Will continued. "As Francis Beaumont, he could be a man of influence, even a councilor."

"He's Hamnet Shakespeare and proud of his dad…" Anne sighed, eyes downcast and voice a bit broken.

"Anne, I don't mean to suggest…" Will began, hand on her shoulder.

"The boy's promised to follow our course for him and enter the Temple for law…" she noted, pulling herself together. "Your letter on the law as a source of material for learning of life did that much. But both of them take after Pa…And all send Papa their love and want him home. As do I…And thank ye, Will…" heartfelt look. "For your forgiveness…And for askin' about me as well…For once…" wry grin.

"Annie…Well…Soon as the season ends, tell them. Did you leave the girls with Mother and Dad or your people?"

"The way your dad is these days?" frown. "My people, of course…"

"He has his troubles, Dad does. But I don't see that…"

"Troubles, indeed…" eye roll. " You know the customs agents found another of his wool shipments. He just barely evaded jail this time. And he got mixed up in that oath-taking business again. He'll be the ruin of us one day for sure…"

"Anne, Dad is a man of faith. The old faith…When not stretching the law on wool marketing…"

People…Jonson sighing inaudibly…Our careers (particularly that of England's greatest playwright, me) and lives on the line? Can we play "family catch-up" another time…?

"He couldn't just be happy with that coat of arms you got for him. Live in quiet retirement and practice his old faith in secret...As I practice my old profession?"

Shakespeare, suddenly cautious, glance at Anne…

"You know Ben knows all about me work ever since that night I had to save you both in Stratford…" she shrugged. "No worries there…He knows I'd shut his mouth for him if he ever breathed a word…Whatever we owe him as to Hamnet's safety. Aye, tis our debt to him only that's kept his mouth open and hand writing, at times. Aye, Ben?" she eyed Jonson.

"Aye…" Jonson, slight frown. Picturing the moment of said threat, following a late night rescue of the utterly wasted Jonson and Shakespeare returning from a writer's brainstorming session/drunken carouse...

The Undead lass serving at the tavern having been all too willing to follow along with them after closing…

A furious Anne having destroyed said pretty tavern's assistant, and her gang of Undead rogues and highwaypeople, equally angry at Jonson's leading her husband on a orgastic drinking binge as at the Undead threatening her husband…

…And making it perfectly clear while holding the suddenly sobered Jonson by one hand off the ground that she would indeed keep her promise to disembowel him with that sharp piece of wood in her hand should he ever breathe a word of her abilities…

…Or bring Will home in such a state, again.

"But if he'd be so good as to leave us be a moment. We should be discussin' the household accounts before I go…" she eyed Will.

"Thought you sent me the household accounts last week…" he replied.

Will…For the Lord's sake…Eye roll…

Well, at least it bodes well against them rumors of his doin's here in the City…

"Aye, but you should be seein' them in detail. In your workroom…"

"Oh?..." innocent confusion.

By the Lord's Mass, for an educated man and England's leadin' playwright, you're quite a dense fellow sometimes, William…Anne fumed.

"In…Full detail…Full and naked detail…" she tried, staring. Slight pull at her chest stays…Shaking of fair locks…

Come on Adonis…Venus been without it in Stratford too long…

Oh…Yes…Right…Will eyed her.

"Yes, we should go over those accounts, in back…" Will nodded.

"Thought you'd never ask…" Anne, archly. "Just be a few moments, Ben. Family matters…"

Oh, please…Jonson sighed. Watching the two happily hurrying to the room in back…Pausing at door…

"Just take a minute, Ben…" she called back.

"Anne?...Have I lost any more…?" Will bent head for her observation…Opening door…

She peered…"No…Well…P'rhaps a bit…But not much…" she lied. Pulling him into the room, closing door with slam…

The thanks I get for all my help…Jonson eyed the closed door with smoldering look. Even if I'd rather thought to cinch Anne's heart in helping to keep her only son safe with Beaumont, who owed her in any case.

There's no true gratitude or honesty in Man or Woman these evil days…

Well, I shall be revenged…

It's guaranteed…

Without serious risk, naturally, bein' certain that England's greatest playwright, yours truly, must write on…

…..

An alleyway near Whitehall…A frowning Anne carefully avoiding several muckholes and trying to fan away the stench with her hand. She paused by a stretch of what seemed to be brick wall…

"The sign?" A male voice issued from within, via a slot created by the removal of a loose brick…

"Piss off and open, tis' the Slayer!" Anne replied.

"Yes?...And how would I be knowing it's the Slayer, missy?" the sharp reply.

"I can dust you through this slot, arse's bastard vampire. Don't you be putting on fal-der-ol airs with me…Tell yer damned (and I mean that literally) boss I've come…" she whacked her stake at the opening in the wall…

Sound of noises from within…Faint sound of argument…

The wall suddenly opened, bricks carefully cut and attached to a wooden door…

"Mistress Hathaway the Vampire Slayer…" another male voice, that of the one arguing with the vampire doorkeeper. "Welcome…"

"Mistress Shakespeare, Willie…" Anne replied. Stepping in…Eyeing the frowning tall gaunt figure frowning at her sourly from the side as the slight and genial Willie took her free hand and gave it a gallant kiss…

"Don't mind Hector…He's a good un, strictly cow's blood. My brother-in-law, a sad and tragic case…"

"You've a lot of brothers- and sisters- in-law, William…" Anne frowned at the little man(?)…

"London's a dangerous place, Ma'am…" Willie sighed. "Me relations are forced to remarry frequently…Hector, a chair for the lady...Will ye have ale, good Slayer?"

"Twouldn't be sayin' no, Willie…" she nodded, taking seat from the still-frowning Hector…

"What's the bug up his Undead arse?…" she tilted head at the vampire, quaffing a long draw from the mug Willie set before her. "I kill some close mate or one of your innumerable sisters, his spouse?"

"You're Shakespeare's wife…" Hector replied, suddenly…

"Bastard cheated me on the last oats crop…"


	4. Chapter 4

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, .com or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part IV…

Secret favored den of London's more savory underdwellers…Allowed some protection as neutral ground by the Royal Council of Antiquarians and Scholars and their current Slayer for professed non-violent underdwellers as inducement for such behavior. Officially…

Unofficially maintained solely for intelligence purposes…By the agreement of both sides for mutual benefit. Presided over by Willam Flitch, alias Willie the Snitch, famed half-demon tavern keeper to questionable clientele, fence (sir, that word), all-around "fixer" for London's underworld, both human and in-…Suspected by all sides, hired by all, trusted by none…

Said Willie currently attempting to preserve neutrality in negotiation with the said Slayer, Anne Hathaway Shakespeare…Whose request for political information on two famed…And infamous…Noblemen…Seemed to trouble the Snitch a bit.

Though it was hardly unusual for a fellow of Willie's talents and connections throughout London to be approached on what seemed strictly a human affair, she noted quietly…

"Is there more to these two gents than meets the living eye…Willie?" she asked as he hesitated…

Ummn…

"No…Not that I've heard…" Willie lied carefully. "But they are two of the most powerful and hot-headed nobles in England. Everybody remembers what they did to that poor Jewish doc of the Queen's? Why shouldn't I worry? Especially with that crazy James up in Scotland killing Wiccans right and left and likely to take the throne after good Queen Eliza passes. And those two are said to be in cahoots with James…And plottin' after the queen in some way to possibly hurry things along. Whether they went after me as an otherworlder, or I get painted with their treason, I'd pay quite a price, Slayer, even incidentially…"

"William…You lie like your namesake, my husband…Badly. Well? Are they vamps? Demons? Or what?" she frowned.

"If they were, would they tell the likes of me? Slayer, come on…"

"They wouldn't have to tell you, William…" she smiled at him. "You'd know…I have faith in my Snitch. Come, laddie…Tell Annie all…"

You know you don't want to get me angry and all…Her sweetly demure look said.

He sighed…

"What? Are you afraid of a couple of noble Undeads? Willie?...You know I'd protect you. When has Annie ever failed you?"

He frowned… "Two months ago…And you might remember I nearly got killed over it…"

"And how was I to know they could rise a second time? I rely on you for information, you know…"

Watcher…Her look said, without word.

God…His look back, involuntary slight hand wave…Never even look that word…

As if I ever wanted that job. Lord God…

As if it twere my fault Marlowe got killed here. And you promised it was only till the Council sent a real Watcher. That was back in 1593, for Christ's sake…

Not to mention I've never been paid…Except what you let me keep from Marlowe's person to pay his score. And it's not like your Council isn't based here in London…

And they sure keep sending me demands for reports…As if I'm some kind of scholar, let alone a writer…

Though it is nice when your Will edits my stuff…Even I can tell it's good and it's nice to be published. Even if only in the Watcher annals…

"There's also the question of who's up to stealin' credit for William's works. I've reason to believe it's DeVere…I need you to confirm that." she eyed him.

He frowned…Slayer…

"Threat…" he hissed.

Ah, right…Can't let my little fellow's rep be besmirched…

"I want information Willie and I know you can get it for me." she raised her voice.

"Maybe on that…For the right price…I've heard a few things to the effect…"

And I mean it on the coin this time…He regarded her sternly.

"I'd expect so…Lets hear what you got…" she rose.

Slayer…You wait for me to suggest the back room…He frowned. Sighing…Well…

"All right, all right, but in the back room…Not here…" he rose.

"That's more like it, lad…" she nodded. Following after him…

Hector at the tavern's hidden door, frowning at them…

The wuss brother-in-law caves again…

Still, suppose I'd do the like if she put the stake to me throat…

And at least he don't do the bowin', scrapin', cringin' with fear in front of the clientele…

….

Essex House, London…

Essex glaring…

The idea…His sense of propriety solely troubled. He fumed at DeVere's returned messenger…

"He'll get it to us tomorrow? You mean he's not to come? The peasant swine!..." slap of aggravated hand to sword hilt. Angry pull at moustache…

"Robert…" DeVere sighed from his chair, pouring himself a glass of wine…Laced with something a bit more suitable to his nutritional needs. "I told you he's a busy man. Of great fame in the world…Bella, girl…" he signaled to a wan-looking, dark-haired maid in corner to take the decanter. Essex eyeing the bottle in the girl's hand briefly…

No, never cared much for Edward's special vintage…I'll stick with my own…He signaled to the girl to pour him a glass from the decanter on the table before him. Turning back to DeVere…

"For writing plays for the mob? Nonsense…You or I could write better on any day…" Taking glass from the maid who curtsied and left.

So I hope to be told throughout the next centuries…Edward thought, smugly.

Acing Immortality on two levels…The physical and the intellectual…Hearing my name praised eternally…

Really is amazing just how good that little fellow from Stratford is…I perhaps the first to recognize just what we all are dealing with here. A world-changing genius…A mere mortal who can breathe immortal life into characters on a printed page unlike any but a handful of predecessors…Homer, the authors of the Bible, possibly Vergil…

"No peasant makes me wait on him. Go, you rogue…" Essex turned to the nervously waiting messenger, sweat visible on his perfumed brow. "And tell this 'Shakescene' that Lord Essex commands his immediate presence!"

The messenger eyed DeVere…

"Robert…" DeVere put up a hand… "The man is doing the work. He requires his own place to work in. It's not an insult, I assure you. He is doing the work?" he eyed the messenger.

"So the girl told me…He was not present but she assured me…"

DeVere's turn to frown… Fellow…

"I do believe I told you to be sure and secure his personal promise to finish by tomorrow. A great deal hinges on that…"

Tremor causing ruffs to shake…

"My Lord, I am certain she will pass all on to…"

"Now we don't even deal with the man…We plead our case with his serving wenches?" Essex stalked the room, fuming. Pausing to round on the messenger, slamming cup on table…DeVere eyeing table…That's sure to leave a mark on a table I've kept for three hundred years. "You fool!" Essex ranted at the rather crushed man. "Don't you know our lives…Our very lives, fool!…Depend on this? And I assure you, I will see to it myself that your life is forfeit should we fail because of this…"

"Please, Robert…" Edward sighed. "Milner will go back and get Master Shakespeare's personal…Personal…Assurance, will you not, Milner? As to this matter…"

Icy look at the hapless Milner…

Lord, Essex is frightening enough, but sometimes for all his charm, my Lord Oxford is just…Satan himself…

Which doth have its unique allure, at times…Calmer times…

"Yes, of course, my Lord…I'll go at once."

"Excellent…" DeVere raised a hand. "That will do, have Bella summon a carriage and go now…"

Milner hurried for the door. Essex red-facedly glaring him out…

"A fool to entrust with such a commission…" he frowned.

"Now, Robert…" DeVere, soothingly. "Milner's a good man, he just didn't see the urgency. Besides, I'm sure Shakespeare would never take a commission from me or you and especially both of us, casually. I've no doubt Milner will find him hard at it and it will be with us on time. He's never failed me yet. We must not let ourselves lose our heads at any time in this matter…It's no time for emotion. My good Essex…Essex…Our friends need to see resolute determination and a steady hand…"

"Well…" Essex, calming. "I suppose there's no harm in it. So long as the man finishes in time…But, Edward…" he took a seat in a large chair…

Nice…Rather like the throne I shall soon find myself in…

As the Queen's declared regent for her last years, of course…Oh, heavy burden, but one I shall do my utmost to live up to…

And should England care to grace my services by elevating me in place of a Scottish foreigner when the time comes that our dear Queen departs for her heavenly reward…Who am I to deny my responsibilities to the Nation…?

"…Couldn't you have simply written the parts in? Knowing your talent and ability, who needs this silly playwright…" he eyed Edward.

"There's no written copy of the manuscript available to me, Robert…Except lines given to actors in dribs and drabs which I've obtained from my patronage. Master Shakespeare likes to keep his work to himself, generally, unlike say, Mr. Jonson…"

"Really?...Difficult to steal, eh? But I should think it would then be hard for him to keep the credit. If his work is as good as the vox populi and you and some of ours claim…"

Exactly…DeVere, faint smile…

"I suppose so…" he gave a slight sigh. "Tis a pity, really…The man is likely to be forgotten with his death if he takes no care to have his work published and credited…"

"Then you've just done him a grand favor, ordering a fair copy of the work…" Essex noted. "I hope the fellow will be properly grateful…"

One could say so…If I were planning to give him credit…

"Well, given the purpose…I suspect it will be best not to let his name grace the work. As a kindness to him, until we succeed, when of course we can give credit where credit be due…" DeVere, innocently.

"I'd thought to have the author, Anonymous…" he smiled.

Essex shrugged… "As you wish…Though I see no reason to protect the fellow."

Some might call it that… DeVere, smiling.

But the "protection" may be a two-edged sword when Master William Shakespeare has outlived his usefulness…

Still, he will have the honor of having ghost-written the works of Edward DeVere, Earl of Oxford, greatest playwright…Greatest writer, no less…In English history.

And here, my poor Robert plays a foolish game for the mere and momentary shadow of power…He eyed Essex…This, boy, is true power. Power that will reshape Humanity and the world…Immortal power…Such as even the greatest of past Immortals (well, would-be but for the Slayer, Immortals) has never won. And win or lose, your pitiful bid merely the cover…


	5. Chapter 5

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part V…

In deference to his somewhat frail…Natural in the poetic sort of chap, one assumes…Though on occasion surprisingly able to belie that frailty…Friend DeVere's aversion to the harshness of the noonday sun…Understandable with that pale complexion, I often avoid it myself, freckles do not make for advancement at Court…Essex had sworn to heed his associate and trusted advisor's pleas to allow Master Shakespeare his peace on their factor Milner's return with positive, personal assurance as to the playwright's promise to complete his commission on time…

After all bigger things to focus on just now than setting an overly self-important hack to rights…A kingdom in play…A Nation in need of the resolute and manly leadership which only…Well, a man…Of the manly sort…Could provide.

That is, of course, if dear old "grandmamma" Eliza will be sensible and hand over affairs to younger, more capable hands…In her and the Nation's best interests, of course…

Cut me off from my monopoly on the duties for sweet wines, my chief source of income, will she? Damned old biddy…As if I didn't slog round dreary, boggy Ireland for her sake for months…And she making all that fuss about my handing out a few knighthoods to keep morale up… "Her prerogative" indeed.

Still…It's all in her interests…Poor old thing's clearly no longer capable of resisting her bad advisors. The damned Cecils…

Well, after tonight, when my people are braced by our little play…We shall be ready to seize power and exclude our enemies. And I shall finally be free to call my soul my own…

Not that I shall be harsh in my justice. Those who called me foolish boy, Queen's boy, lap dog, curly-topped fop…Won't be drawn and quartered…If of noble blood, of course…The ax will do just fine.

And we shall once more be the Protestant scourge of Europe, aiding friends, crushing enemies. Yes, t'will be a new golden age, to be lauded by the greatest poets of our time…Good ole DeVere, my staunch friend, that what's-his-name…Yes, Shakespeare…Ancestor must have been a foot soldier once…And the rest. A golden age, of a type not seen since Augustus Caesar…He smiled at a bust of said Caesar…

And there's no question who's the better looking of us world-historical leaders…

"Contemplating the new era, are we?" DeVere's voice, only the slightest trace of ironic mockery…

"Edward…" Essex turned to greet his friend. Looking rather well today…

Yes, was a good idea to move him in here for the main event…The change of air obviously beneficial…

Never did like that place of his…All those awful smells in corners…Like rotting meat…And the dreariness of the place with those wan-eyed servants and the spiritless local peasantry…

Like my peasants feisty and cheerful…Though of course, knowing their place.

Now that Bella…He eyed the maid trailing after DeVere…She certainly needs a change. Though not much improvement on her part as yet…If anything, a bit paler…

Still, looks good in a woman…

DeVere took a book from Bella… "That will be all, dear girl…You go and have a bit of a rest, eh?"

She curtsied to both men and wanly headed off…

"Tis a fair wench, that…" Essex noted, watching Bella disappear down the hall from behind. "And delightfully mild and docile…Where did you find her?"

"Oh, one rather dull summer in the country when I was incognito seeking the inspiration of the natural. Had some nonsensical idea there'd be some in the simple lives of the peasantry. She was a milkmaid whom…Whose services…I used…I decided to keep her on afterwards…"

One always finds a personal cow insures that daily 'milk' delivery…

"… Sometimes do regret it though…" DeVere glanced down the hall, frowning at where the girl had just got through a door. "Such mildness can be tiresome over the long haul…"

Deathly so, in fact… Really looking forward to trading up soon…And I hear tell the Slayer is a feisty sort…

Though of course family has its claims, Bella being a distant relative in the surviving branch…

"Truly?" Essex shook his head… "I'd gladly take a mild wench over my current harridan of a wife…"

Essex' houseguest frowned… Yes, that one…Pity she has to be dead Walsingham's daughter. The spymaster's agents still keeping close watch over her…A danger to my influence over the boy should we triumph by some unlikely chance.

Well, should it be so…Even her people's contacts with the Council and the Slayer won't protect her. Till then, patience…The virtue that has stood me so well for so many centuries…

"Girl needs a bit of sun, though…" Essex noted.

"A wasting illness, I fear…Troubles me deeply but nothing to be done." DeVere shrugged briefly."And how are we today, old friend? Ready to take your place in history?"

That of minor footnote in my glory…He smiled blandly at Essex.

"Certainly…" Essex drew himself to a resolute pose. "And with friends like you beside me, Edward…"

Oh, behind, boy…Definitely behind…Urging you on to your destiny with that final, fatal shove…

"…I cannot fail."

He hesitated a moment… "Still…"

Ah, here it comes…DeVere sighed inwardly. I knew that ole self-preservation bone…The one thing mature in this idiot clown…Would kick in, eventually.

"…I have dispatched another trusted agent to the Queen…Hopefully she will see reason."

"Reason, being?" DeVere eyed him.

Knew I shouldn't have let him out of my or one of my own's sight…Even to feed on dear Bella…

"My restoration to my proper place on the Council, the removal of the Cecils from office, our proposed legislation to be passed in Parliament, my monopoly on sweet wines' duties restored. And of course, proper recognition for my successes in Ireland…" Essex noted.

Well then, no problem…Thought fear might have driven the fool to some degree of sanity with an abject plea for clemency and only the Council and the wines as requests. She'll never listen to the rest of that nonsense. And as for "recognizing" that mess of a campaign…And handing over her right to grant titles…Lord, even I'm tempted to kill this idiot now for England's greater good.

"And we await reply?" he asked, pleasantly.

"I hope she will listen to sweet reason…She's been led astray but I still hold my Queen…"

"Certainly, certainly…" DeVere nodded. "But you are fixed in your resolve to take action if negotiation fails…?"

"Naturally…" Essex, slightest and resolutest of nods…

Not really many options left to me otherwise…

"Good…Well, keep a stout heart, my friend and all will be well. I promise…"

For me, naturally…he thought. For you, dear Bob…Well, let Fate decide…I give your chances a bare 5%.

Especially given that crew of noble twits backing you up…

…

"Well…?" Anne, seated on bench at her closet watcher, Willie's, table in his rather famed "back room" where many a deal involving negotiations between living and dead had been settled, regarded the lovely young fair-haired woman, of noble birth by her dress and carriage, standing a bit abjectly before her…

"Have I protection here…Or no…?" the girl eyed Willie, seated next to Anne, then returned to stare at the infamous Slayer…

Rather a coarse type this one…The last Slayer had some refinement, clearly of gentle, if French, birth…This one's likely some uppity milkmaid…

"You do, Frances…If you've anything useful to the lady here." Willie, coolly.

"I want your word…" Frances eyed the Slayer.

"Surely…" Anne nodded. "If you do no harm to humans and as friend Will here says, your knowledge be of use. You're a ward of the Queen, he says…Her Majesty might not like to hear one in whom she'd lavished trust and affection was a demon wearing human…"

"I don't take humans for feed and I didn't kill the girl…" Frances insisted anxiously. "She died of fever. It was a blessing to the poor woman, the mother, that I took her and played the part. I was a good daughter to her whilst she lived…"

"Fine…" Anne nodded. "And if you be good ward to the Queen, you'll assist me now in ridding her realm of whatever menace is here…"

Even if it only be a bad poet seekin' to take my Will's mantle…She did not say…

"He'll be angry…I want your promise." the girl eyed both.

"Granted…As I said. Now? As to 'he'?"

"DeVere and Essex are still plotting against the Queen…Southampton's in league with them…And there are others…" Frances sighed.

"And?" Anne, gently… "You know what I want to know, lass…"

"Edward's one of your prey…" she nodded. "Essex, no…But DeVere's one of the oldest in England to survive. Your word?"

"You've proof?"

"A Slayer needs proof?" Frances blinked.

"I've no desire to kill an innocent man, lass…Innocent by my lights, that is. Treason I leave to the Queen and hers to deal with. I've never heard of DeVere's being one of the Undead…"

"I'm no liar, Slayer…" Frances, indignant. "You ought to remember to whom you are…"

She gulped as Anne pulled out her stake…

"…A foul demon stealing the body of a dead girl…I know whom I'm speakin' to quite well, lassie."

"I kept her alive. She'd never have lived to womanhood…To grace the Court as I do."

"Noble of ye…" Anne, waving hand… "What proof?"

"He's employed me. For intelligence at Court, only, I swear. He found out about me, blackmailed me, threatened to expose me. But since, I've gotten close to him…And seen him with his current cow. His maid…"

"Cow?"

"He keeps one human alive for a fair number of years as his only feed. It's how he's avoided detection. This maid's his latest…"

"Clever enough, no trail of bodies…So?"

"Ma'am?"

Anne frowned…Don't play with me, demon…

"What's his game lass? Why would a vampire who's kept himself out of the annals of the Council want to take a risky venture like this on for?..."

"The Council will see you're safely taken to the Continent…Willie?" Anne looked to her partner who shrugged.

Sure…Nod…

Avoiding an eye roll…Like the Council'd ever listen to me. Stand-in Watcher or no…

"I don't know his plans…But…" Frances hesitated…

Anne, cool stare…

"…I don't think he believes young Lord Essex has a snowball's chance in Hell. He simply wants to put things in turmoil. And there's some young playwright he wants to tar with Essex's brush…"

"What the fuck ye say?!" Anne, bolt upright. Willie eyeing her in as much alarm as Frances…

"I…" Frances gasped.

"What young playwright?! And where be the bastard now?!" Anne had sprung up and bore down now on the frightened "young woman" who cringed. Looking to Willie for aid…

You always said you liked it Willie…Her desperate look…

"It's all right…"Anne waved a hand. Motioning an anxious Willie back… "Just tell me, lass…"

"I don't know the man. He's some fellow DeVere follows a lot…Very popular right now with the masses and even the right sort. We're not allowed to attend the theater except on special occasions. Her Majesty feels it would degrade our sensibilities and open us to public scorn by the foul audience…" Frances, slight air of superiority despite the overriding air of fear…

"Shakespeare?"

"I don't know…Is he the popular one now? I've heard of a Mr. Jonson who's big…"

"…why tar with Essex's brush?...You mean involve him in their plot somehow?"

Frances, nervously backing up a bit from Anne's harsh glare…And sharp, upheld stake…

"Just tell the lady, Fran…" Willie, soothingly. "It'll all be ok then…"

Wan smile to Willie…

"I think so…I think Edward wants the man dead. And his work lost, somehow…Though why…"

"This whole thing is to set up Will Shakespeare?" Willie crystallized, Anne staring at him.

And like a fool I…She gulped.

"It's the revision. But there was to be no name on the work? How was that to expose my Will to danger? Frances!..." her voice sharp as Frances' wandering eyes clearly sought the exit door…

"Slayer, I don't know. But Edward is with Essex at Essex House. You can kill him there, if the Queen's guard don't. They've orders to arrest or whatever Essex if he leaves his house arrest. And he plans to, soon…"

"The play was to be performed at Essex House tonight…Do they move tomorrow? Frances…?" Anne frowned at the girl now giving Willie a pleading glance…

After all we've meant to each other, William? And how many court ladies would give you the attention you deserve…?

"Frances, are they to take action tomorrow…?"

She shrugged… "I only know Edward said it would be soon…"

"All right…" Anne sighed. Then gave the girl a hard look…

"We'll have to be finding out ourselves then, won't we…Ma'am?"

"Slayer?" Frances, Willie…

"You have a new maid, girl. And you're attending a special performance of one of me husband's finest first works…"Richard II…"

Frances stared…Willie stared…

"The Queen won't hear tell of this will she? She'd be mightily pissed at me taking in a play without her permission…"

"Just worry how mightily pissed the Slayer will be should her husband be harmed in the slightest." Anne noted quietly.

"Slayer…There's no need to be frightening her. Frances will go along and do her best, won't ye, Fran…?"

Oh, yeah…Frances, nodding hastily to Anne's stare…

"But you'll need proper clothes. And you must learn a bit of proper manners and ediquette. You can't just clomp along as a true lady's…" Frances paused.

Whoops…Not the time for my Court sensibilities to intrude…

"You're right…You've five hours to teach it all to me." Anne, calmly. "Your life depends on it, so do well by me, ma'am…"

My…She is married. And happily, more or less…To the fellow in question. Must be awful, bein' Slayer and all…Threats at each and every turn to him…Breakable little human, though? Poor matin' choice for such a warrior…

Still, I suppose I know enough about findin' true love in the strangest places to understand…

Warm beam to Willie…


	6. Chapter 6

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part VI…

Rooms of Ben Jonson…London…

A frowning Anya in gown and muddy…London streets muck muddy…Shoes eyeing her client. Her settled client, vengeance plan in place and underway…Her only remaining duty supposed to be observation until death of the factors involved. Either both victims or the said client…

Not to give weekly updates and take orders…Particularly take orders…

Bad enough I'm seamstress to a company of ego-driven actors with 17th century license to sexually harass…Though it is amazing all-in-all how few really go too far. But I'm not some vengeance serving wench…I'm a professional.

Besides I already did the serving wench quite thoroughly in my human existence as Aud…

"Master Jonson?...Your note said you needed to see me. And please, in future, be very careful about using 'Anyanka'? I do have other clients, some of whom might like to know I'm around. For your sake as well as mine, sir…?"

"Sorry…Thought you'd want to know I didn't require some stitching…"

You will for sure if Mistress Shakespeare ever learns what ye be up to, Benny-boy…

"Right, sir…Just how about letting my cover function next time, ok? I won't mind if it's really just sewing you require…"

In fact I could use the extra coin…

"Fine then…I'll heed you for the next time, if one…So? Are things proceeding?" Jonson asked, eager.

"As well as ever, sir…But you know all will not go into effect till long after your deaths…"

"Never did care much for that, lass…" Jonson, frowning.

"The irony of the curse only works if Master Shakespeare's had time to be immortalized in history, sir. We did go over that…And you agreed to it…"

"Lovely…Some curse, that…And twasn't as if you gave me options…" Jonson, bitterly.

"You'll not be forgotten yourself, sir…" she sighed.

If you get off your ass and go to work on something worthwhile, doofus. Instead of mooning over the "dark lady"…

"Was that all, sir?"

"No…Twas not…In fact, I've some information. Privileged, as it were…From the lady for whom all this is being done. That could influence events, dramatically…"

And I ought to know, being England's greatest dramatist…Whatever a few idiots say about Shakespeare. He fumbled in his pockets, pulled out a scrap of rather fine parchment.

Hmmn…Court stationery if I don't miss my guess…And I know goods…Anya eyed the piece.

Thought the Shakespeares were the frugal type. Unless it's his playwriting parchment…Best not to spare expense there, I imagine.

"It's from Court…She's there, God knows how…" Jonson waved the letter. "Here, read…"

"'Ben, I've learned a few things and must attend Will's special performance tonight at Essex House. DeVere is of the Undead, beware him. I'm preparing to go with a young noblewoman as her maid. Don't be askin', no time…Tell William on no account is he to go to Essex with the company tonight. In fact, he's to head for Strafford at once…Tell him his life…And mine, therefore…Depends on it. Or tell him the children are ill…Whatever works, just get him out…Anne.'"

Hmmn…Remarkable…I didn't know Anne could write at all…

"Sounds like a climax…" Anya noted.

"Sounds like a chance to deal with mine enemy ahead of schedule, lassie." Jonson smiled. "If I were to be delayed in getting to him. And if someone urged him along to Essex House…"

Charming…Anya thought, eyeing Jonson's malicious grin…

"All ye need do is go and tell him Lord Essex is anxious he attend. I know Will Shakespeare, he'll go to learn what's up if he wasn't already planning to, for Anne's sake. Hell, I could probably give him this and he'd be even more anxious to go…But a tad more cautious…"

"Sir…" Anya frowned… "You have a contract with my Lord D'Hoffryn. Specifically stating that your vengeance comes in 1880…not 1599…"

"Lass…Think of the time and trouble saved…" Jonson grinned.

And the loss of a crack at the Slayer's soul…I can just see how Lord D'Hoffryn will like this one…

"…And if he be killed, owing to her slowness…" Jonson, quickly grasping the key argument…

"I know your Lord wants her for his little troupe. Why not help him to her sooner? Ye can put it all on me…I'm the client, am I not?"

"We follow a strict 'no substitutions' policy, Mr. Jonson."

"I think I'd like to take the matter with your Master…" he frowned at her.

"Lord D'Hoffryn doesn't do house calls, Mr. Jonson…" Anya glared.

And next time, neither do I…

"My role here is strictly to observe and ensure that the Slayer and her husband do not learn of our plans for their futures. Good evening, Mr. Jonson…"

"Lass…" he stared at empty air…

Damned impudent little…

Well…Now what…He eyed the note.

Hmmn…Nothing says I still can't encounter a bit of unfortunate delay. And see where events lead…

Then again…Ben Jonson makes no use of such deviousness…Himself…

His underworld allies…Their business…

And no note and Will might think alls well and stay at home. No, I see honesty as the best policy here…

With perhaps a bit of stress on the danger to poor Anne, facing God knows what as well as what she already knows…

After all, wouldn't be proper to have Will sittin' safe at home whilst his missus was fighting Essex, his men, and whatever unholy fiends are looking to exploit the current turmoil in the state. Even if she does do it all the time…

…

"I don't think I like this…" Lord of all things Vengeance, D'Hoffryn frowned at his minion, Anya…In to report the latest turn of events in her assignment…

Just the messenger, boss…And I coulda kept it under my rather nice hat…My little sideline to go with the seamstress gig…And not doing too badly, either, if you've noticed what the females of the audience at the Globe are wearing…

"This Jonson is becoming more trouble than he's worth…Are you sure he's not up to something?"

"Actually…I'd guess he is, D-H…"

"And you leave him unsupervised?"

"He's only human, boss…Besides, I'm keeping him monitored."

"I don't want him interfering with this project, Aud…I mean it."

"Yes sir…Anya, sir."

"It's Aud and much worse if you fail. The Shakespeares must live to see William's efforts crowned in glory. It's essential…"

To my theater-going, he did not say…

I mean who knows what might be lost if DeVere has his way. Besides my best shot at bringing the Slayer into our fold…A shot far too carefully planned out to be thrown away on a client's sudden whim…

"But what about that vampire…The would-be thief? Do I?"

"Not at this moment…But stand-by…It's unfortunate he had to get involved. He has powerful friends in Hell. Well, if he seems likely to defeat the Slayer and steal William's thunder, we may have to act…Or re-evaluate. However…" D'Hoffryn smiled. "I've faith in our Lady Slayer…"

"But I shouldn't act to make him back off? Surely the very mention of your name…?"

Is she being sarcastic? D'Hoffryn eyed Anya carefully…

Always hard to tell with this one…She does eager earnestness so well…

"There are people in Hell I don't wish to get involved with over this business. Just observe and report, Anya. No direct action unless personally ordered by me."

"Yes, sir…"

"Of course, if you were to find a way to pass a bit of useful info to the Slayer at the right moment without indulging in the use of power not readily available to any mortal…In a normal human way sure not to arouse the suspicion or wrath of any major Immortal…"

"Right, boss…" she beamed…

License to blab…Within reason…That's what makes my boss so beloved…

"And let me know if the Slayer moves to confront DeVere openly…"

"Boss…?"

"I couldn't resist a chance to see that twerp cringing in fear…" D'Hoffryn grinned.

…..

Shakespeare scanning the parchment good ole "Honest Ben" had brought faithfully to him as he and Jonson sat in his main chamber. The full write-up of "Richard II" with revisions beside them on a small writing table…

"You're sure? She can't honestly mean to confront DeVere and Essex at Essex House. Without telling me…?"

"She seemed convinced you were in danger…" Ben, solemnly. "And loving lass that she is…" he sighed…

"Right…" Shakespeare rose. Taking hat off shelf and pulling it on firmly…My that spot is growin' something awful, Ben noted, eyeing bald spot.

"They wanted their revision as soon as possible. They'll get it as soon as possible…"

Here now…No need to get silly and cut into your brethren's pockets. Jonson thought in slight alarm…

At least hold back until tomorrow…Then after a day's wages are paid show 'em you're a miracle worker…

"I'll be off. Tell Anne…If she comes in…Oh, I'll probably see her before you do…"

Uh-oh…Jonson pondered. Always the chance Anne won't appreciate my utter failure to carry out the spirit of her communication. I should at least make a show of support…

And who knows what opportunities may arise in the heat of battle…

"Valiantly, England's greatest dramatist labored to save his friend, the somewhat promising Will Shakespeare…In dread combat with the forces of darkness…But in vain…Alas…However his deeply grateful widow…"

Yes, that's why I am England's greatest dramatist…

Though no slouch for comedy or romance, mind you me…

"Hold on there, Will…" he hurried after…


	7. Chapter 7

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part VII…

A slightly less direct route to Essex House…But one with a certain advantage…

"Here, dearie…Come along now…Oh, don't be such a friggin' prick, you…Alice is hot for you, love. Come along, now…" insistent tone…Hungry look…

"Jesu, preserve me…" Will sighed. "Lass, husband of the Slayer…" he eyed the vampiress/prostitute eyeing him from her doorstoop as he passed.

Blink, careful look…Oh, God…So, tis…

"Right, sir…Honest trade, strictly voluntary, non-fatal drawin'…My best to your lady…Take care, sir…" she gave him a nervous smile. "Husband of the Slayer, there!" she called down the street.

"Evenin' sir. We run a voluntary shop here, sir." "How be the missus, sir?" "Mind how you go there, sir…" various calls from different dark doorways…

Who'd've of thought this vampire lane would be the safest street, more or less, in London…For me, at least…Will smiled to himself. Annie certainly having put the fear of Slayer, if not God, in them during her last visit to town…Any such den of humans and I'd be sure to have had my life threatened and likely my fool throat cut an hour ago…

He frowned and pulled a cross as a burly figure stepped out to cross his path…

Nope, not susceptible…Either an atheist, demon, or…

"Coin, you! Or I slit gizzard!" the burly, utterly human, figure pulled knife…

"Henry!" a cry…A buxom blonde racing out from a lighted doorway, a rather disreputable tavern, averting her eyes from Will's cross.

"Human, sir…Me husband, sir, no offense, sir…Henry, this be the Slayer's husband. Come along!"

"Slayer or no, coin!" Henry replied, waving knife…Wobbling in his stance…

"A bit too much drink and drain…Voluntary…" the woman noted apologetically. "Come along, Henry, I told you to eat something. He's just tryin' to cover the month's rent, sir. Trade's a bit slow this year…"

Will staring…Dear God…

"It's fine…Just take him in…"

"Thankee, sir…Best to your wife, sir. Please come by anytime for a drink on the house, sir…" she smiled at him.

"Wait…" he called to her. She urging Henry inside as he made futile swipes of the knife and muttered inarticulately…Staggering…

She turned back to him…Holding Henry…

"You and him…Together, still?"

"I've our stillborn babe in me, sir…Died when I did. Soul's holding me nature down…Your missus' Council's got me case in their records, they've been watchin' me. And I was a very lovin' wife to him…"

"Don't you hurt her!" Henry suddenly took up a wavering defensive stance, breaking free of his wife…

"I won't, lad…" Will nodded. Smiling at the woman…

Lord, the extraordinary things Anne has brought to me…If only I could write about half of them…

"God bless you, girl…My wife does know of you?"

"I believe so, sir…Agnes Schofield, sir…I think she'll know the name. Her people have been very kind to me…" she smiled back, carefully forcing the knife out of her husband's wavering hand. "Come along, Henry, lad. It's fine. The gentleman is Mr. Shakespeare, the Slayer's man…He won't harm me."

"She's a good…hic…Woman…Still…Don't say she's not…!" Henry waving arms.

"An angel…" Will nodded…Henry eyeing him.

"Here's it, lad…" Will pulled out a coin and tossed it over. "A loan, till your trade picks up…"

"Thankee, sir…" Agnes beamed as Henry carefully staggered over and picked up the coin…

"And we will be in for that drink, thanks, lass. I've got to hurry now…"

"Lookin' forward to seein' you, sir." Agnes nodded…Henry?...She urged…

"Evenin' sir…" Henry croaked. She gently tugging him along, back inside…

"Sir! Mr. Shakespeare, is it?" a call…He turned to see the first vampiress prostitute hurrying after him, leading a rather startled-looking Ben Jonson…

"Gentleman says he's a friend of yours? No offense, he seemed to be followin' you, sir…"

"Ben? It's quite all right, lass…Thanks…"

"Glad to oblige you, sir…" the vampiress smiled at the coin Will carefully offered her, a light toss at the end… "Very kind of you, sir. Best to the Missus…"

"Aye… Ben?...What the devil?"

"Anne asked me to keep you from harm, Will. Just keepin' me pledge to the lady of me best mate and fellow wordsmith…" Jonson, slight gasp at recovering from near-death experience…

Quite a death that, at that lassie's hands…Almost worthwhile, to think on it…

…..

"And we curtsy…No, no…Like this…" Frances made a careful, sweeping curtsy. Anne stiffly attempting to follow in her borrowed gown… "Better…"

"And then… 'Your Grace…' head down till he acknowledges you…Then back to me…Good…"

"Right…" Anne sighed.

Frances eyeing her…Well? The 'girl', frowning slightly, awaiting…

"My lady…" Anne, frowning.

She/It had better not be enjoying this too much…

"If you want to pass for a maid, this froward expression has to go, girl. Er, Slayer…" hasty correction…

"Right…My lady…" Anne pasted a smile… "Are we ready? It's dark now…"

"As we'll ever be, I suppose…" Frances' delicate features wrinkling at a caught scent. "Pity no time for a bath…"

"What?"

"Nothing…Just put some of this civet on…" Frances sighed, handing a small jar. "And let me give word that we're going out to the evening guard. I'm off duty but he'll cover for me if the Queen should request me suddenly. I'm one of her favorites, you know…" proud beam.

"Can't say as I love the idea of you attending the Queen, lass…" Anne eyed her. Frances frowning in her turn, back…

"I've been a loyal and dutiful lady-in-waiting for four years…You've no call to accuse me of disloyalty. Never once have I done Her Majesty harm or betrayed her trust…And I'm better behaved than most of those sluts in gowns. Now, I'm willin' to help you at risk of my job, but there's no call for insulting me…"

"Fine…" Anne shrugged. "Just keep up the good work and we'll have no trouble between us. Go and see your boyfriend…"

"James is not my boyfriend…He's fifty and happily married. Though, I could tell you a tale or two about some of the other guards and my coworkers. I tole you I love Willie…I'm no Court strumpet, you know…"

"You're a paragon, for sure…The Queen should have more demon-possessed ladies. Get on with it, now…" Anne waved her off.

"This is not the attitude to show with the Earls…" Frances noted firmly but turned and headed out of the room. Pausing by the door… "And I'm possessing no one…I told you, miss, the poor girl died just before I took her, of illness. And I paid her father very well, in recompense. He was desperate enough to do a resurrection, with likely awful results, when he met me. The family would've lost everything without me…Her…As heiress to her uncle. And he appreciated what I did for mother…Ummn, her mother…" she continued out. "Close the door after me, girl…" sudden tone change, smile to a passing guard…

"Eh…" Anne growled, sauntering…Damn this stupid gown, how can one walk in this?...With forced exaggerated steps to the door, and slamming…

"…Yes, my lady…" sarcastic tone…

Things I do for that man of mine…

Though, when one doesn't have to walk in it… She eyed herself in the long looking glass of the wall near…Not too bad a dress for style, really…She turned.

And lady of the Court or no…I do rather carry it off…

Am gettin' a trifle big round the girth, though…Better lay off the ale a bit when I get back home…

…...

"Who?" Essex eyed his maid who'd brought word of another guest arriving…

"Master Shakespeare, my lord…"

"What, at my front door? The impudence…Tell him to go round the back with his people, those actors…"

"He requested an audience my lord, says he has an important item to deliver to you, personally…"

"Item? Oh, yes…Well…Very well…Though remind him next time to use the servants' entrance. Show him into me…" The maid curtsying and heading off…

Damned uppity fellow…Thinks a little writing for mooning idiots makes him my equal?

DeVere stood in the opposite entranceway, the obsequious Bella behind… "Robert? How goes it?...Anything wrong?..." he eyed the sullen expression.

"Our playwriter is here, Edward. And would like us to wait his pleasure…" Essex, irritated.

"I swear when I come to power, fellows like this will learn their…"

"Master Shakespeare, my lord…" the maid had returned.

"Will Shakespeare…" DeVere stepping forward hastily to cut off Essex's annoyed stride/tirade…

"Very good of you to come so quickly…" he offered a hand. Shakespeare bowing…

Jonson, beside him, fuming slightly…

What am I taken for his manservant?

"My lord…And my lord Essex…" Shakespeare offered a bow Essexward. Essex eyeing him coldly…Curtest of nods…

"May I present my colleague, Mr. Jonson. Of great fame in the theater these days…"

"Of course…The great Ben Jonson…" Oxford smiled.

The deep pocketed, but still douche-bag of a poet, Oxford…Jonson noted inwardly, bowing. Still, even if he's of one of the persuasion…And judging from the looks of these two…He eyed Essex, then DeVere…They're of that other persuasion, if not the Undead sort…He is a patron to keep on one's best side. "My gracious lord…"

"I wanted to thank you personally for your generous patronage and support of my older work. Here it is, with the revisions you requested…" Will offered a packet, securely tied with twine…

"Excellent…" DeVere beamed, taking the packet. "Isn't it, Robert? You have our thanks, Shakespeare for such quick work…Bella?" he passed the packet to Bella who quietly took it…

"So 'Richard II' hits the boards again…A marvelous work, really, Robert." Edward smiled at Essex, still sullenly regarding the upstart peasant…Balding fellow, too…Before him…

"My Lord Oxford is too kind…" Will replied, eyeing Essex…

Yep, pretty much as the boys described him to me…

Not that I generally risk a plunge on anything but produce futures, but I wouldn't give his chances much worth…

"Yes…" Essex nodded, coolly. "My Lord Oxford is quite taken with you, Shakespeare. Tells me you're a genius with the quill…"

Hallo…Ben Jonson here…Greatest dramatist of the English stage…Jonson thought, regarding Essex coolly…

"Only a humble scrivener of words, my Lord Essex…" Will bowed again.

"Well, Oxford is a major poetic type so he should know. Very well, we'll see if this merits our support…"

"Thankee, my lord…Lord Oxford, if I might be granted leave to see the players? I'd like to review the revisions with them, particularly Mr. Burbage. See they all understand the new passages…"

"Certainly…Bella…Take Masters Shakespeare and Jonson to the players…" DeVere waved them on with smile…

Hmmn…Will pondered. If I were to place money on one of them being of my wife's chosen prey…

Though, it's a pity…DeVere truly sucks as a poet but he does appreciate the fine arts and his patronage has benefitted many of us…

Interesting scene this…The young aristocrat of rather artistic bearing whatever his lack of talent dispatching revisions to his actors. An additional few lines to heighten the impact of a scene for a target audience…His fate hinging on the reception…

One could make use of this in another context, perhaps a bit nobler one…And a little thank you to the fellow for his generous support over the years, should Anne have to kill him…

"Master…Shakespeare…" Bella spoke softly to him, urging.

"Yes, coming, lass…Thanks, again, my lords…Ben, shall we?"

Hmmn…He eyed the wan Bella awaiting him…

Jonson looking as well…Nice piece, that…Though a bit less ruddy and red-cheeked than I like 'em…

Definitely been fed on…I'm afraid it's not looking good for one of the English art world's most generous patrons… "Please, miss…" Will kindly bowed to the girl.


	8. Chapter 8

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part VIII…

"So…Then…" dramatic pause, naturally…The speaker being the acknowledged greatest actor of the company and England's greatest, at least by his reckoning and both the company's and his own promotion, star, Richard Burbage, reasonably resplendent in his kingly costume, a matinee idol par excellence, coupled as his mates would reluctantly admit with an outstanding talent, particularly for the challenging roles of their master playwright… "I tell the little piece that I wrote the damned thing for her…"

"She believed you?" a male voice from an actor decked out as Queen of England…

"Well…I asked her, how could I recite it so well if I were not the author, apart, naturally, from my state of inflammation by her beauty…"

"Come now, Dick…" John Hemmings shook head. "She's a bright lass…I don't believe it…"

"You'll believe in about six months, Johnny…" Burbage grinned.

"OOOOHHHH!" howl from the rest of the assembled cast…

"Ah…" Hemmings, good-naturedly chuckling. Looking over to the opening door to see Bella, holding it now for Shakespeare and Jonson entering, she quickly closing… "The man himself…Good evening, Will! Ben!...Come to view the competition…?"

"None that I see here, Johnny…" Jonson called back.

"Come to bring a steadying hand to these amateurs, Will?" Burbage called.

"A hopeless task, Mr. B…" Shakespeare shook head, grinning. "Everyone ready for an evening in verse…?"

"Don't remind me…" Hemmings, mournful tone. "Why you had to do the whole thing like this, I'll never know…"

"It doth go trippingly across thy tongue, Jonathan…" Burbage grinned. "And the ladies see it as refined, for sure…"

"A bit less so this time out…Have you reviewed the revisions I had sent over?" Shakespeare eyed Burbage…

"Aye..." Burbage, a bit more serious now…Several others among the cast likewise eyeing Shakespeare…

"Seems to tighten up the deposition scene a bit…And somewhat less question as to Henry's right in bumping my poor namesake off his seat? Not to mention throwing the meter off…"

"A special commission…I did my level best to rebalance it. You'll have to paper any awkward spots…"

"I've done that often enough, with your stuff…" smile. Then, sober look… "But Will…Given the current situation at Court, isn't this a bit…?"

"Gunpowder, William…" Hemmings cut to the chase. "Are you sure we want to be involved here?"

"We're simply actors doing a play, John…Strictly non-political…And well-fee'd."

"Yet some might take even our accepting such from a fellow under Essex's cloud as a bit suspect…" Hemmings noted. Burbage nodding slightly…

"We don't want trouble, Will…Is there potential?" Burbage, quietly grave. His expression rather enhanced by the ceremonial robes and crown…

"Ole Bess has been a blessing…" the actor in female costume noted. Several nodding… "We've no wish to get caught up in some nonsense…"

"We won't be…" Will put up a hand. "I promise you, our work here is strictly artistic…No one's going to bother about it…"

"Some one bothered about Marlowe back in '93, they say…" Hemmings, coolly.

"We don't know that…Chris was known for brawling when in his cups…" Shakespeare shook his head. "And Walsingham is long dead…"

"But his spirit…Damned be it…Lives on…" Burbage, carefully. "We don't say we won't do it, Will. We just want assurance…"

"You've mine…" Will nodded. "I take on any responsibility, though I swear that there is none to fear. Except that you lot will make damned bad meat of my poor play in front of the gentry…"

"Hopefully not all male…" Burbage grinned. "I brought so many gifts for the ladies…" he posed a bit…

Ducking as a shoe was hurled at him…The first actor in female costume now joined by another young actor in dress, putting wigs on…

"Oh…Mr. Burbage…Do…Do…" they chorused, simpering.

"A whore, a whore…Dick's kingdom for a whore…" Burbage, grabbing at the first actor…

"Ben…?" Hemmings had slideled over to Jonson as Shakespeare urged a few less high spirits. Gentry down the hall…

"What do you think about this business? Are we gettin' in over our heads? I'd like to keep mine, you know…"

"I'm sure Will knows what he's doin', Johnny…" Jonson patted him. "In fact, I've reason to say I doubt this business will do the Court any annoyance…" shrewd look…

"Oh? A new liberal spirit pervading? Or is the ole woman gone and lost it over that pretty boy again?

"Neither…" Jonson kept a low tone, smiling over at the others clustered about Shakespeare who was reviewing the new lines with Burbage…

"…You know full well, Bess never lost her head over any man…Except perhaps old Dudley…"

"The pretty boy's stepdad…Not a mild inducement to look after him…And tolerate his pettier faults…"

"What that fool's done and intends are no petty matters…" Jonson, quietly.

"Then what are we doin' here? Is Will crazy…?" Hemmings hissed.

"You won't suffer for it, John. Will's right there…In fact…The Court might take rather kindly, in a way, to knowing who attended tonight's showing. A clear list of all those supporters among the gentry who listened to his little playlet within Will's play…One more nail in Essex's coffin to charge him. It won't come to hurt you, Johnny. If you keep a clear head and use that fine actor's memory…"

"I'm no informer, Ben…" Hemmings, sternly. "Which sounds rather like your meanin', no offense…"

"No such intended, no offense taken…" Jonson put up a hand. "Just noting a course which should prevent you any trouble…"

"Thankee…" Hemmings frowned.

There'd been rumors about him…Particularly after Marlowe bought it and he seemed to lead a charmed life with the censor. Not to mention that other rumor, after that brawl where some claimed he'd been seen lifeless on the floor, dead as poor Chris…

But then, there were those crazy rumors about Will's Anne and her gaddings about…

"John?" Will called… "Scene…"

"You're on, Johnny…" Ben smiled.

Fool dolt…Would've been glad to spare him for my next work. Thought he might have a brain unlike good ole Burbage, moronically devoted to the man who made him…

Well, perhaps best to clear away the deadwood and start afresh…

"Dickson, thy prayers be answered…" the first actor in queenly gown pulled away from the window from which he'd been staring out to see the arriving guests. "The female persuasion in fair flower…"

Burbage heading over with no little eagerness as Hemmings began his rehearsal with Shakespeare…

"Now there's what makes the artistic profession we labor in worthwhile, boys." he grinned, peering out as several more came to the windows. Noting Frances and her attending maid, Anne, unrecognizable in gown, wig, and powder, emerging from their carriage…Into what was a rather sodden strip of muck by said carriage…

"Perhaps I should do the Sir Walter…" Burbage suggested, pulling kingly robe from shoulders…

"Not in that…" Shakespeare called over, sternly…

…

"Bella?...Guard this with what remains of your miserable life, girl…" DeVere waved Bella over and handed her the packet of the manuscript of "Richard II" Shakespeare had given to him and Essex…

And there it is…The complete copy ready to be recopied in my own hand. And once I master the style a bit, I simply copy from the notes for the actors for the other works and the career of Edward DeVere, England…Europe…Hell, the world's…Greatest playwright…Is underway…

Just have to see the true author meets with a tragic end in the current disaffection and trouble. Leaving the stage clear for me to take his mantle as the greatest playwright of all time to our present day…

And Lord knows, likely long beyond, given his talent…

Pity he won't have a chance to finish a few more…I truly wonder what his genius might have come up with, given a bit more time. Rather wish I could throw him in my private dungeon for a few years and see…

Ah, well…I'd like to keep young Essex twitting about for a few years if I could as well. His silly antics amuse one so…But one can't have everything…

Just Immortality and Immortal Fame…And the delight of a kingdom in chaos…

After all…Much a patriot as I am…And much as England needed stability after Neronic Henry and his feeble son and vengeful religious bigot daughter. It will be a joy to have the old days of paranoia, fear, and mass slaughter back again…

"Lady Frances…" Essex greeted the lovely Frances with a beaming smile. She reciprocating, with curtsy and carefully lowered eyes…

"My Lord Essex…Thank ye for your invitation…"

"I am delighted you accepted, Frances…" Essex held her hand still. "I'd rather thought you might refuse me…Given the lies told about me at Court."

"My lord…Never…" Frances, remaining bowed. Eye to Anne…

Keep down, you idiot…

"…I am always your friend…As is Her Majesty, I hope you know…"

"Of course…" Essex nodded. "Tis only those rascals trying to come betwixt us with their lies who think we can be separated…" he waved for Frances to rise. Taking her hand firmly…Drawing her along, Anne following…

"But does the Queen still befriend me?" he asked, cautiously, in low voice…Leading her into the main hall…

"Oh, without doubt, my lord…" Frances, nodding firmly. "She is ever your friend…"

And would see you to Heaven if Heaven would accept the present, to borrow me Will's line…Anne thought, following.

She is good…I'd best be keepin' an eye on her evermore. Girlfriend of me Watcher or no…

"That is wonderful news, Frances…Thank ye. I must see to our other guests. I trust we will speak again, after the performance…" Essex, kissing held hand gently at the end.

"What?" Frances eyed the slightly frowning Anne as they took seats… "It's how one plays the game at Court…You never burn bridges. Besides, you made me come…"

"I didn't realize the fellow was such a…" Anne, shaking head…

"…But such a pretty one…" Frances grinned. "It almost makes up for it, at least for Her Majesty…"

"He's young enough to be her…"

"And she loves him for his stepfather, Lord Dudley's sake too." Frances shrugged. "But the Queen can't help it if a young girl's heart still beats within. She really is a virgin, you know…"

"You're putting me on…" Anne stared.

"Ma'am…You are talking about our Queen…" Frances, hissing sternly…

"Fran…" a voice, high-pitched…

Uh-oh…Anne pulled herself down…

I know that voice…

"Lord Southampton…" Frances, light smile…

"The most beautiful of all the Lord's Creation…" young Southampton, long-haired, in extravagrant dress with enormous ruffs and long, billowing sleeves, simpered. Taking her hand…

"Tell me…When, my sweet…"

When you can ever manage to get it up…An impossibility I know…Anne thought.

"Only by permission of her Majesty, my lord…" Frances, pulling hand away…

"That will not be a problem, I assure you, Fran…Dear Fran…" Southampton pulling at her hand…

Never thought I'd be so eager to come to a demon's defense…Anne thought. As Frances gently pulling her hand away again…

"Please, my lord…There are so many about us…" Frances, diplomatically.

"Of course…" Southampton nodded, conspiratorial look. "Till later then, dear one…" he grabbed and squeezed hand. Moving off to join Essex and two others in conversation…

"You alright?" Anne hissed.

"Of course…" Frances shook head. "He's the least of my worries, believe me…"

"I believe that…Lucky though he didn't recognize me. We've met when I was visitin' Will in London before…"

"Really? You?" Frances eyed her…

"My husband's done some work for him, he loves Will's stuff. Sonnets and poetry…But we've only met a couple of times, briefly…"

You may have met him, girl. I seriously doubt he's ever minded you…Frances thought, smiling politely.

Unless he's a taste for big-hipped cowmaids. Which in him seems unlikely…

"Southamption…!" Essex was patting him now… "So good you could make it…!"

"I stand ready to die at your side, Robert…" Southampton noted. Fond look…Fonder stroke of hand…

Nope, no chance of that…Frances nodded, watching.

God…Anne stared…

Will did say the fellow's requests in sonnets was a bit unnerving…


	9. Chapter 9

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part IX…

Southampton having mercifully found another interest for his flittering mind, Frances at Anne's urging moved through the great hall of Essex House to give the Slayer a gander at her prime target. Hopefully allowing for a quick confirmation of his nature and a kill based on the evidence…Frances nodding…

Nice to know of a Slayer who pays attention to the niceties of occult justice…A minimal degree of proof being "nice"…

"My Lord Oxford…" Frances bowed to DeVere who'd stepped forward from a group of Essex' men… "A pleasure to find you here. My new maid, Anne…Just to Court, daughter of Lord Sho.." cough…

"My Lord…" Anne, stiffly. Though not too badly, Frances noted with relief…

We may just pull this off…Particularly if she offs Ed quick.

"Frances…Welcome…You grace our little effort. And you, my lady Anne…" polite nod…Careful look…Smile…

"We must pay our respects to your other guests, my lord. Pray, pardon…" Frances smiled.

"Certainly…But do not abandon me for the entire evening, dear Frances…Anne…" DeVere, warm smile, flourish of hand. Anne curtsying with Frances…

Not bad as to looks, if a bit on the weedy, pretty boy side. Of Burbage's "soulfully pinin'" type, were he human. But definitely Undead, though good at faking the breathing and keeping a bit of red in the cheeks…Anne thought as she followed Frances carefully, a step behind…

Yes…DeVere frowned after them…

Like I believe that one is either a Lady or a lady's maid. It seems dear Fran has betrayed me, no doubt in her own self-interest…

And from the aura, it could only be the Slayer…

Hmmn…Yes, fits the descriptions I've had…Bit on the hefty side but not bad…Comely in her way without doubt. And with a few pounds shed, a veritable Venus… Yes, I see where Shakespeare got his inspiration on the poem…No doubt about it…

Will require considerable retraining though to slough off that clomping farm girl charm, but Edward DeVere is up to the challenge. I shall be Pygmalion to this country Galatea. After all, if Shakespeare can see something in her besides a deft ability with a wooden stick…

Certainly not the first girl I've reshaped into an ornament somewhat worthy of Court. Not to mention, me…

And never hurts to have a Slayer bodyguard/cow… After I deal with the little genius husband…

Or, rather she does…After I make use of my greatest talent. He concentrated. Wives' tales are for fools, he told himself and moved to eye the large looking-glass to the side of the great hall, from which Essex rarely moved far. Yes, there they are…Those beautiful soulful blues, death literally to any mortal woman …He eyed himself, struggling to overcome his remaining slight fear. If I can't see myself, am I gone? He looked himself over carefully…No dissolution…One merely has to firmly overcome one's childhood superstitions and one sees one's self in the mirror…Voila…No cringing child of the night is DeVere of Oxford. Girl…He eyed Anne dutifully trailing after Frances…

You may have a fine rep but you have met your match…Romancewise as well. He gave a slightly wistful look Anneward. Just reving the old horse…Given we may have to move quickly on matters before the Queen decides to ring down the curtain on us…

Yes…I so fondly remember my last Slayer, worshipfully declaiming her passion for me even as she plunged her stake into her former lover's reeking gore. Did I keep her after she finally succumbed to my years of feeding? Ah, right, she's still a housemaid/bodyguard on the estate. Had that footman of mine stage her death "in battle" to fool her Council when she was at point of transformation. Yes…A rather sweet girl, in her living days, really…

Somewhat less so, now…Well…

One gets so sentimental about such things when one has a truly poetical sensibility. But no time to dwell on the past glories…The future spreads…He glanced at Anne's rather overconfined bosom…Indeed…Before us…

"Can't you get him alone?" Anne hissed to Frances as they continued their rounds. Frances rather into her element now as female courtier…Rather intensely interested in the talk in various dark corners regarding Essex' coming bid for power…

"Careful…" Frances hissed back, smiling warmly at a young blade eyeing her, waving Anne to a corner…

"Act like you're fixing my dress a bit. And then stop looking at me like you're my elderly aunt…You're supposed to be a court lady's maid. This sort of thing goes on at Court…"

Anne, frown…

"Well, they'd best not try my patience…" she insisted. Pretending to fuss at Frances' dress lace…

Frances, annoyed…But restraining her response. "It's a game…We all play…"

"And Willie? How does he mind the game…At his expense…?"

"As if you cared about him…" Frances glared. "But, yes, he tolerates it…It's how he makes his profit or hadn't you noticed while putting his life at risk? Yes…" her voice low and rather bitter. "You don't mind put him at risk of life and limb yet you want to protect him from the likes of me. Who only lives to make him happy…"

Anne, startled…

"He lives by his contacts at Court, girl…" Frances, grim hiss. "Why do think I let fools like Essex and Southhamption near me, letting the Queen think I'm fond of them and risking her wrath at times like these? Information is power, Slayer. You ought to be knowing that, given what Willie gives you has saved you many a time…"

"Fine…Me apologies…Now when can I have a crack at our pretty boy vampire?"

"You're the Slayer, not me…Shhh…" Frances, eyeing an approaching figure. A tall, rather handsome blonde young member of Essex' circle…

"Sir Francis…" she beamed. Moving to meet him and partly blocking Anne… "How nice to see you here…"

"Lady Frances…" the young man bowed…Taking her proffered hand…

Anne repressing frown…Carefully maneuvering to the side…Scanning the room…

No DeVere…Essex busy with a group of twits including Southampton… Uh-oh…She caught sight of Hemmings, entering the room after the wan Bella…

Johnny…

Do not want to be spotted by the troupe just yet. She slid carefully between Sir Francis and Fran, still engaged in light banter…

"Anne?" Frances eyed her…

"Just wondered if you need anything, milady…" Anne, hastily.

Hmmn…A rather big one…Sir Francis noted…Not without interest…

"No, no…Just enjoy yourself…Mingle a bit…" Frances, pleasantly.

"Our Anne is new to Court. A bit shy…" she noted to Sir Francis…

"Delightful…And from where, Lady Anne?" Sir Francis, beaming smile…

"Stratford on Avon…" Anne, not thinking…

"Really?" Sir Francis, curious…

Moron…No one comes from there. I distinctly tole you several northern locales nobody knows well…Frances, glaring…

"Yes…Daughter of Lord Nor…" cough…

"Northumberland?" Francis blinked. "I'd no idea he'd lands there…"

"Yeah, pleasant seat…A little country place no one knows of…I was raised there, to keep me away from influences and such…" Anne noted.

Hmmn…Johnny off to Essex…Must be about time to start…

Ok, not spotted…For the moment, safe…

"How nice…You know I believe our author of tonight is from there…" Sir Francis noted.

Bet your rather too ridiculously high boots he is…Anne thought, proudly…

And nowhere near…

"Though, I have heard. Tis really our own dear Oxford…"

"The hell he is!" Anne, loud enough to obtain stares from several…

Jesu Christos, girl…Frances, sighing…

"Anne's quite the playgoer…" she hastily dived in… "Become a real fan in her short time here…"

…..

"Ah…Shakespeare…" Edward had gone to meet with the actors and author a final time…

Hopefully, literally that in the case of the author, he thought.

"My Lord…" Will bowed. Turning from his reading to Burbage of several tricky new lines…Burbage bowing as well…

"We should all be assembled now…Are we ready?"

"At your command, my lord…" You stinking bit of rotting Undead…Will thought.

"Burbage…I trust the additions will not be too much for you." DeVere eyed Burbage who frowned…

I know my business, you foppish little…

"Not at all, my lord…" elegant bow…

And looking forward to seeing you at the execution…Fixed smile…

Though God knows Will…Fun's fun, but I have a dear little wife and family who need me…In a single divinely handsome package…Burbage eyed Shakespeare as DeVere nodded and moved back to the door of the great hall. Several footmen springing to open doors for him…

Time to get to know the Slayer better while she unoccupied…DeVere noted to himself…

Something tells me she already knows the play quite well enough. And will therefore be more interested in me…Assuming she lives anywhere near enough to her reputation to have detected me…

"It'll be fine, Dick…" Will hissed to Burbage. "I take full responsibility if anything goes wrong…"

"Now there's a comfort…It had better be…"

Essex now entered from the great hall. Hemmings following…

"Are your…People…Ready?" Essex looked at Shakespeare…

"My Lord…" Will bowed. "Gentlemen…" he turned to the troupe…

"Let them not be too…" Essex waved a gloved and perfumed hand… "…dramatical…Yet not lacking in…Drama…" shrewd glance…

"They shan't my Lord…" Will sighed. Jonson now by his side, rolling eyes…

Lord…

"…Nor too…Comical…Yet not without some…Comedy…"

Comedy? Jesus, has he even read this play? Jonson thought…

"Certainly, my Lord… Gentlemen…?" Will urged the troupe, sternly eyeing several struggling to repress chuckles… "Johnny…Ready…?" he glanced at Hemmings who stepped forward…

"This earth, this realm…This England…" Hemmings, grinning.

"And yet, to be sure…We do have some romance, I trust…?" Essex eyeing the two actors in ladies' wigs who smiled daintily at him. Simpering a bit…

"Oh, yes, my Lord…If we may but…" Got to find something to use this idiot in after he's met the block. He's just too good to pass on…

"Good…Good…And some of the poetical, eh? I rather fancy the poetical…Not to write the rubbish myself, you know…I'm a man of action, really…But in a play and all…Rather fancy it…"

"Plenty of poetical, my Lord Essex…" Will nodded, pleasant tone. Kicking quiet Burbage's attempt at "altogether too much…"

"Fine, fine…Well then, let the actors come forth. This play's the thing that will catch the conscience of England!" Essex noted.

Hmmn…Will eyed him…

Not a bad line…Though "England" doesn't quite work…


	10. Chapter 10

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part X…

"He's back…" Frances hissed, moving close to Anne, pausing as if for another adjustment… "And he seems to be looking for someone…I'm going to guess it's us."

"I know…And more likely, me…" Anne whispered back. Reaching as if to adjust… "There, milady…" in audible voice…

"Don't underestimate him…" Frances, anxious whisper. "He's killed…And transformed his share of Slayers. Thank you, Anne…You may go enjoy yourself…" raising to audible level at end…

"Ah, Lady Frances and dear Mistress Anne…" DeVere had come over to them. Beaming…

"The play's starting now…" he motioned to the door where the players were now entering from… "May I escort you to a seat, Frances? And you, Lady Anne…?"

"Thank you, Edward…" Frances, regally. Taking his proffered hand…Anne following…Pasting brief smile to his smiling look and nod…

"You'll enjoy this one…A remarkable work by our author…And quite suited to our current political situation…" he beamed. .Other guests taking seats…Essex taking a seat in front with several young courtiers. They reached a group of chairs, well in back…

"Best to keep back, much better for viewing all the activity. And in this play, there's plenty…What is it, Frances, dear? Nervous?" soulfully concerned look…

"This has passed the censor?" Frances stared at the players. "I mean the Queen doesn't appreciate unauthorized 'political' works on the stage or other public venues…"

"Which is why we are doing it in a private home, among our dear friends…" DeVere, smiling. "The Queen can hardly object to that…"

The hell you say…Frances, shaking head…

"Is it new, my Lord Oxford?" Anne, innocent tone…

"No…But a fine work, with some revisions…Frances?" he tapped Frances' shoulder as she sat… "If I may help Lady Anne to her seat?"

"Of course, Edward…" Frances nodded. He moved to stand by a chair next to another, both just behind Frances…She repressing urge to watch…Smiling at the stage while waving fan deftly.

"Madam…" he pulled the chair back for Anne who took seat. Stiffly with equally stiff smile…

"And are you finding the Court to your liking, my lady?" DeVere whispered, still standing behind her chair…

"Tis' a bit strange…But I'll adapt…" Anne replied.

"I'm sure you will…" he fell silent as the players lined up and took a bow. Hand on her shoulder…

She managing not to shrink from the touch…

Surprisingly warm in fact…Strange…Does he heat himself beforehand somehow when going out in public?

"My Lords…Ladies…Gentles, all…" Burbage stepped from the row of players…

"By the patronage of His most Gracious Excellence, the Earl of Essex…" nod to Robert. "We present 'The History of King Richard II…', by our most excellent author, Master Shakespeare."

Anne craning to see William…Then thinking better of it, settling back…

"How proud you must be…" DeVere whispered. She turning back to look at him coolly. He smiling gently back…Shrugging slightly… "Lets not spoil your husband's excellent work. Once they've begun we can go and discuss our affairs…Slayer…"

"Fine, then…My Lord…" she replied, in whisper…Eyeing him…

Indeed he does have lovely eyes…Must have been quite a fine young lad, once…

"Frances..." he leaned over Anne slightly, with a brief apology, to Frances, whispering… "I'd like to borrow Lady Anne for a bit of a stroll. She and I both are sufferers from the closed air in here…"

Frances, glance behind her to him, then Anne, who nodded. "Of course…Don't be long, Anne…I wouldn't have you miss the rest of the play…"

"We'll be back before the best begins…" Edward, quick whisper, smiling. Anne cautiously rising with him…A player catching sight, frowning…

Could show a bit of courtesy…Being the gentry…Not the groundlings…

Who at that usually are better behaved than to leave at the opening scene…

Frances, quick glance back again at the departing Slayer and DeVere, quietly moving to the back of the room and out the door. The ever-waiting Bella wanly following them…

Well, nothing I can do…Just get in her way. She's the expert, after all…she thought, nervously, trying to focus on the players…

Between Edward and Queen Bess, I am sure to be out of someone important's favor by tomorrow…If not dead, again…She sighed inwardly.

…..

"So…" DeVere, pausing in the hallway outside the great hall…Anne facing him a few feet away…Bella quietly moving to take a position by DeVere's left. "Here we are, Slayer…"

"Indeed, my Lord…Are you, in fact, a Lord?"

"What a question…" he frowned. "Of course, I'm the rightful heir of Oxford…Edward DeVere of the family line…"

"But not quite as young as you appear and give out…" she regarded him.

"True enough, but it would hardly do to let all and sundry know I'm actually a bit older than I trust I look…" smile.

"My Lord should have been a woman…" she smiled, faintly…

"Perhaps…But you, Venus, require no noble title to be what you are. A true goddess…" earnest stare.

"My Lord is too kind…And full of honeyed words. Might I ask how many of them are from my husband so I might keep track for the final billing…?"

Smile…Nod…"And a practical woman of business, to boot…Master Shakespeare, your husband, is fortunate indeed…"

"Thank you…And so, if I may ask, my Lord…Are we here to do battle? And if so, shall we commence?"

"A terrible thing to do in the house of my best friend, us both guests…" DeVere, smiling. "Come now, surely you and I are above petty displays of our prowess. I hoped we might discuss equitable terms in a friendly manner…"

"Are you offering your surrender, my Lord?"

"I thought more in terms of a truce, my Lady Slayer…" winning smile. "I know of your reputation and I trust you know of mine…"

"I do…"

"Then can we accept that we are worthy opponents and that it would a tragic loss for either of us to be taken from this world? Slayer, I'm a peaceable sort…And I realize you are more than a Slayer…No, you are a muse…" beam. "The muse of the greatest writer England and quite probably the world have ever known. A talent too great to be thrown away in a foolish and petty struggle…"

"Are you threatening William…?" hand lightly over dress…Sensing the stake at hand in the folds. Tensing…

"Slayer, if I meant harm to come to your husband. He would be here, facing harm…He is quite safe from me, I assure you. However, dear Anne…" soulful look…

Hmmn…Warm in here…

"You could be the muse of the greatest writer and power behind the throne, England will ever know…"

"My Lord...?"

"Anne…I will speak plainly. I want you for my own…To be my muse…To sit beside me on the seat of true power in this realm." he took her hand… "Dear Anne…" longing, deep stare…

"You…What?" she moved hand but did not break the grip. He took her other hand, pulling it out from the dress…

"You warm my lost soul back to life, gentle Slayer. Dear Anne…Be Venus to my Adonis…Forever…Forever, dearest Anne. Take pity on my heart and free me from my eternal loneliness…"

"I…"

"Don't speak, Anne…Just kiss me and let me know your heart is mine. My muse, my love…Oh, Anne…" he pulled her close. Kissing her lips…Pulling back… "My honey-sweet Anne…"

"Right…" she eyed him, calmly "That the best you can do?" she pulled her hands back, stepping nimbly from him…Wiping lips with back of her stakeless hand. Stake firmly gripped in the other…

Stake out and up before he could recover from his shock…

He blinking….Anne?

But, to her surprise, he deftly dodged her quick 'end-it-all-before-intermission' thrust…

"Nicely done, Slayer…" he frowned. "But hardly in keeping with a truce…"

"Who said anything about a truce except you?" she shrugged.

Door opened from the great hall…Both relaxing immediately…Stake repocketed before it could be seen…

"Edward?" Deveraux frowned at his friend…Apparently wasting valuable time on a lady-in-waiting or even some junior wench. "The play's in swing and our friends are getting a tad nervous at the content. I doubt they need to be let to think you have left us…"

"Coming, Robert…Lady Anne? We shall meet again…" smile, bow…

"Of course, my Lord…" Curtsy…

Hah…Got it perfect, too…


	11. Chapter 11

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, .com or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part XI…

"'…can all the water in the rough, rude sea…Wash the balm from an anointed king?'" Burbage pronounced, staring out at the audience of gentlefolk before him.

Jesu…Hemings gasped under breath. Several other actors equally stunned.

Not a pronouncement now, but a question? Christ, if old Eliza ever heard it put that way…

The King himself, questioning his own sanctity?

Will, what hast thou wrought? Nervous glances about…Even as a pleased Essex, in the front row of seats, nods at Burbage. Well put, fellow…Well put.

Shakespeare in the wings to the left, carefully eyeing the audience…

Well, they wanted it, they got it…He glanced at a number of rather anxious faces among the audience.

Seems a bunch got more than they bargained for…

A few quickly attempting to wipe the anxiety from their faces as Essex looked back at his guests.

Stout lads, all…He nodded to Southampton who gave a confident if clueless look back. As several among the guests commenced to quietly looking for exits…

Frances sighing quietly in her seat…My God…

There might just possibly have been a chance for Essex…Exile, banishment from court, financial ruin to be followed by the Queen's eventual restoration of a part of his fortunes, after a suitably lengthy penance and desperate pleas for forgiveness with sealed promises to avoid politics forevermore. But now? Alls I see is an ax in that poor foolish boy's future, much as it will break Eliza's heart to kill Dudley's step- and likely natural, if rumors be true, son.

However, she looked round nervously for Anne…There are even more immediate concerns. If DeVere has acted true to form and the Slayer has failed, it's time for Frances to give notice (on parchment, to the guard officer, not to be given to the Queen for twenty four hours) and betake herself and her Willie to France, at the very least.

"My Lady…" Anne's voice, from behind. Frances, relieved, turned to eye her.

Hmmn…Nope, not enthralled and ready to break my neck at her new Lord's bidding…Though definitely not really to begin a victory parade. Still…

"Did you and Lord Oxford have a pleasant chat?" she asked.

"Till we were interrupted, my Lady." Anne nodded, looking up to the stage cautiously where Burbage was now continuing his tragic downfall as Richard II.

"But I look forward to meeting my Lord again, soon." She noted, the slightest bit of grimness…Oh, Lord…She tried to pull back as she caught Shakespeare, backed by Jonson, looking out from the improvised left wing…Her way.

God damnit, Annie…His hard stare her way.

…..

Door thrown open from a small room to the hall which DeVere and Anne had had their interrupted rendezvous, with rather surprising force given the pale and slight source…

"Bella?! Bella?" grim call. A bit more forceful and angry and far less languid than usual for the source.

A wan Bella in her maid's outfit rising from her seat in a chair in the large hall… "My Lord?"

"There you are…Come!" DeVere ordered. Bella, head bowed, moved to him. "Don't dawdle, girl!" he insisted. "You've not been bled for a couple of days."

"Yes, Lord." She picked up her pace a bit, reaching him, peering in at the room in which her Lord had vented his wrath, destroying a cabinet and various items in manner quite removed from his usual pose of langor. "Do you require me, Lord?"

"In another's home? Don't be foolish, you silly cow!" he glared. "And as for anything else…" sneer. "I'd say your rather limited charms have longed ceased to be of any interest to me, cousin."

"Yes, Lord. I am sorry to be of so little help to you, Lord." She nodded, bowing.

"You know, it's unbelievable…!" Oxford fumed at the hapless, waiting Bella, stalking up and down the hallway now.

"My…Gracious…Lord…?" she asked, flatly…Watching him.

"That this…This kitchen wench of a Slayer!…This country cow in court dress!…Uneducated, unadorned by any light of proper family or breeding!…Like her damned husband…That she should refuse me!" he raged, pausing in his stride, a bit petulantly. Calming in a moment as she wanly eyed him.

"How may I serve you, Lord? Shall I attempt to kill her, Lord?"

"What, you?" he chuckled with sneering overtone. Eyeing her at the end a moment… "Tis true, coz, you did once take a Slayer or two by surprise in your youth…They do tend not to see you coming when you seem so helpless a victim." Smile. "But not this one, she's not such a fool as those others."

"No, Lord." Bella nodded.

Reflective nod. "Yes, really more of a challenge…As I was told. Indeed…" he smiled, relaxing a bit. "I really should be grateful at last to have such an interesting foe." He regarded Bella.

"Well, dear, you may yet be of use other than as a cow at that…It is possible at the right moment an appeal from you could distract her. Yes, I think there's use for you yet, Bella. I will allow you to live and serve me a bit longer."

"Thank you, gracious Lord." Bow.

"After all, if you never will be my bride, family is family and I much prefer to feed from the right source, my own noble line. And our little letters to and from your grasping, greedy mother do so amuse me at times. It has been a year since the last woeful tale of your evergoing debaucheries, hasn't it?"

"Yes, Lord." Nod.

"Yes, plenty of time for you to have degraded yourself yet again, my dear coz and would be bride, with yet another degenerate…I think our next letter should come from Berlin, yes? A sturdy Teutonic Knight your latest deflowerer, again leaving you penniless and with child, surviving by means we merely imply?"

Grin. "I savor your mother's cover letter to me, enclosing yours, begging yet again for help for the wayward daughter lost to sin she would have foisted on me as Lady Oxford years ago. But you know, I rather think she's jealous of your escapades across the Continent, dear Bella? A certain tone of bitter jealousy always manages to creep into her pleas for additional help for you even as she yet again debases herself, though of course somehow the money never seems to reach you in your pitiful distress. I suspect your mother has rather sticky hands in that regard…"

"Yes, Lord…" Bella, flatly.

"An enjoyable game for now, at least till your younger sister reaches a decently marriageable age and we start all over again with her. But she should be even more amusing, given the letters you've sent her of your pleasures and wanton ways…Between the debauched sister and the viciously greedy mother, dear Lottie is sure to be quite the interesting little character. When time allows we must write again to her as well, telling her of your sordid delights…Defiling her soul even before I do." He took her face in his right hand. "I think once she takes up your role as my sustenance, if you still live, I may send you into one of my private brothels to serve a few friends who are of use to me. Tell me how pleased you would be to be allowed to serve me in such manner…"

"Yes, Lord…I'd…Be…Pleased." Nod.

"Virtuous and dull as ever…" sigh. "Let's hope your sister has more of the DeVere spirit. But, such weak virtue appeals even to a Slayer like Anne. They sense it, bubbling even through what I've created out of you. Yes, I sense underneath the practicality of the milkmaid, our Slayer has a romantic streak. She married the greatest poet in England after all…She might be more cautious but she too suffers from the human weaknesses of pity and compassion." He considered, resuming his more usual languid air.

"Poor Bella, helpless victim of her ancestor/would be groom…You might win her sympathy at that." Nod.

"Thank you, Lord."

"Of course you might need a few good bruises and a scar or two. Our Slayer is probably the type to need a grosser physical appeal to her sensibilities." He smiled, looking her over. "Any way, for the nonce, we have our business here to attend to. Go to my Lord Essex and see that he is satisfied with the performance…Tell him I was taken ill but am recovering and will see him after the play to discuss matters of state. And see if our fair Slayer has joined her husband. And if not, tell Master Shakespeare, Lord Oxford wishes to speak with him a moment."

"Yes, Lord."

Smile… "Tell him the matter concerns his wife…I think that should encourage him to come. And that I will be waiting…In the rear of the great hall, with people about. I imagine he's aware now of my nature from his wife…Or at the very least been cautioned not to find himself alone with me. And, Bella?"

"Lord?"

"See that the Slayer is aware of my summons…It's important 'Lady Anne' comes in his wake, seeking to protect her little fellow from my menace while avoiding a battle in public."

"Yes, Lord." Flat stare, nod.

"And of course we must see out our own little playlet as to poor dear ole Robert. By now his 'friends' must be beginning to desert the sinking ship like rats. Events should be reaching a head there shortly." Smile.

"Yes, Lord."

"Dear Bella…" he patted her. "Forgive me my nature…I suppose as arranged marriages go one to you would have been less intolerable than many. Now, if you would…?"

She nodded, turning…

Ah, he thought, feeling for the packet in his jacket…Thank God I didn't destroy this lovely thing in my wrath. My ticket to Immortality, the real kind…He patted the bundle of papers. Now to have this copied in my own hand, dispose of the little fellow, and establish myself as the greatest playwright in English…Hell, human…History.

Surely there could be no better revenge…


	12. Chapter 12

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part XII…

A break as the somewhat nervous cast hurriedly reset the stage…

Lady Frances in wonder, eyeing the face of the famed Slayer seated beside her…

She's anxious…Frances stared over to the left wing where she could just manage a glimpse of Shakespeare's frowning, partially concealed face.

She's even…Afraid? Of him? She looked again…Shakespeare no longer visible.

Anne nervously glancing about, considering…

Lord, if Will goes off half-cocked now, seeking that fop of a vampire…

Fearful. For him and of him…Frances realized, watching her.

Willie's right…The Slayer does have a weakness…

Never thought I'd say this of the Slayer but…Poor thing. Poor doomed thing…

Even if she defeats DeVere, Willie's right to feel for her. She's doomed. No Slayer can survive this foe…

Love…

"I'll be back…Milady." Anne murmured, rising. Eyeing the left wing again as Jonson peered out, giving her anxious look.

"Of course, Lady Anne…" Frances, hurriedly whispered. "Hurry back if you can."

"Yes…" distant whisper as Anne hurried back.

Doomed, Frances thought.

But then, so have I been since the day I met Willie…

Thank ye, dear Frances, dear friend and partner…To let a demon share in such joy…

And, doomed as I may be since then…

I'd not trade it for life eterne…Wan smile.

…

Back of the improvised stage, left wing…

"Will? What's the matter?" Hemmings eyed the furious Shakespeare, Jonson at the wing's edge looking back at him, then peering out…

Damn you, girl…Shakespeare fuming inwardly, moving for the door out to the main hallway. You never leave anything to me. This one time, when it's my element…

Words being mightier for our friend DeVere here, with his lust for true Immortality.

He continued on, Jonson now in cautious pursuit. Several perplexed actors watching, eyeing Hemmings…

Something wrong?

God say he's not abandoning us to the wolves here, and more importantly, at Court?

"Will…" one of the boy actors in ladies' garb called to him…

"Will, wait!" Jonson hurrying along as Shakespeare opened door to find Bella in the hallway in her maid's outfit wanly staring at him.

"Master…Shakespeare?" she paused.

"No, no, no!" Anne in her fine dress, hair a bit askew, racing up, stake in hand…Several startled attendants in the hallway looking after her flying form...She gasping for breath…

Damned stays…Give a lass room to breathe…

"Anne." Shakespeare, grimly.

"My Lord Oxford would have you meet him…" Bella attempted to continue as Anne came to her and grabbed her, shaking, stake repocketed. Releasing her a moment later…

"You go tell that…!" Anne raged at the startled girl, now actually a shade paler.

"Ma…Ma'am…?" Bella wanly…Vaguely terrified at sight of the raging face in rather elegant dress before her…

"Anne!" Shakespeare, firmly but a touch of concern now… "She's a mere…Girl…"

"Anne!" Jonson echoed. "Don't hurt the poor thing…"

"What? No…" Anne released the shaken Bella, staring at her…Feeling herself…

"I didn't mean to harm…"

"Anne?" Hemmings had come to the door, behind Jonson…The actor still in costume.

"John…You go on in a moment…It's fine." Shakespeare noted.

"What's all that finery about…?" Hemmings noted the fine dress.

"A bit of play, that's all. Milord was kind enough to let Anne attend the play and saw she was properly dressed…It's fine." Shakespeare insisted as Anne gave hasty smile…Yo, Johnny...To Hemmings… "I'll just have a word with my missus and be right back."

"Aye, we'll be back." Jonson noted, deftly stepping out with Shakespeare…Closing door before the puzzled Hemmings could react.

"Johnny?" the actor in drag who'd spoken eyed him… "Is this trouble? I've my woman and children to worry about…"

"Leave it to Will…Lets get on with the damned thing…" Hemmings shook head. "Sooner we've done and left this place, the better off we'll be…" He listened to Burbage and several others on stage, awaiting his own cue….

…..

"You all right, miss?" Shakespeare regarded the stunned and shaken Bella who gave faint nod, slightest of smiles at his concern.

"My wife gets excited sometimes…" glance to Anne standing by Jonson.

Nice…Jonson regarded Anne in dress…And that hair askew don't detract from the vision one whit…

A lass worthy of waiting for for a few hundred years, I'd say…

Though one must consider that rather prominent element of danger in such temper, mated to Slayer's strength….

Still, Will's none the worse for wear, it seems. And any true artist must be willing to risk the phyickal for that which inspires the spirit.

And Lord knows that woman is inspirin' me right now…

"I'm fine, sir…" Bella nodded carefully. "He'd like to see you…"

"Oi! That's enough of that, William." Anne glared at Will… "Victim or willin', she's not fit to be trusted…"

And much too pretty, despite the obvious abuse and wasting away…

"Just a mo, darling…" firm tone. "Where, miss?" he addressed Bella, who seemed a bit nervous at Anne's insistent reply to Will.

"Down there, sir…The small anteroom…" Bella pointed.

"I'll go 'see' him!" Anne fumed.

"Anne!" Shakespeare, sternly. She halting, staring…

"It's me job and me duty, Will…" she paused at his look. "I can deal with him. You can't."

"Well, then? Why didn't you take him before?" he eyed her.

She frowned… "Are you doubtin' me, husband?"

"Doubting you, never…Doubting that the Slayer can best this fellow alone? Yeah." He nodded.

"He's…Very powerful…" Bella gasped. "He's waiting, sir." She returned to her bland state.

"He's hurt you, hasn't he?" Will eyed her. "Poor child." He looked her over… "It's all right…" as she moved a bit, turning head as he tried to lift her hair off her neck.

"I'm not to let any see…" she murmured. Pulling away…

"I won't make you…" Shakespeare, kindly, letting go of her hair. "He's tormented the poor girl, feasted off her no doubt."

"I've seen her about with Oxford…" Jonson noted. "She's been with him some time."

"Girl…I didn't mean to hurt you." Anne cut in, coming close…Bella backing away…

Anne…Shakespeare waved hand. She pausing…

"I've girls of me own, you know…Two living…Judith and Susan…Does your mother live yet, child?" Anne asked, trying a kindlier air.

"Yes…" Bella, wanly. "He likes to write her about me…He makes me tell her…" she paused. "I'm not a fit person anymore. That I've…Done things…"

"He's a vicious bastard…" Anne frowned.

"He's waiting, sir…." Bella turned to Will. "He'll be angry with me."

"Go tell him I'm friggin' 'angry' wid'…" Anne, calming at Will's stare.

"Well?" she eyed Shakespeare.

"Go tell the Earl I'll be right along…" Shakespeare told Bella.

Jonson reflecting…

Heroes always make for good dramatic subjects…And dead rivals are especially welcome in that regard, just so long as they're well turned into their graves.

Anne, holding tongue as Bella shyly nodded…Bella pausing as she turned away…

"He wanted her to know…The Slayer, to know…" she eyed Shakespeare.

"Course he did…" Anne frowned.

"We know…Tell him she does, please…And that I will be right along." Will smiled at her.

Anne still frowning, turning head away as Bella headed down the hall.

"The hell you are…!" she hissed fiercely as Bella moved out of earshot.

"Anne…He won't kill me, he needs my talent."

"He has it…Now you've gone and written out the bloody thing for him." She noted.

"Only the one…He wants them all, including the ones up here…" Shakespeare tapped his forehead.

Showoff…Jonson inwardly glared…

Well, Ben has a few in the oven as well, smart-ass…

"I'll deal with the likes of Oxford. You handle the words. That's our partnership." Anne, grimly.

And of course the kids, the farm, the speculatin' in grain futures, the loans we've put out, the sex and all that else…

"Yes, but he wants me and is expectin'…You." Will noted. "Lets surprise the little lord…"

"I can't bring ye back from the dead, Will Shakespeare…" Anne, angrily. "Not among me talents…"

"That's disappointin'…" he smiled. "I'd've loved to tour the undiscovered country and return."

"Words, words…" Anne fumed. "This is life, Will…Your bloody life and mine…"

No need to knock our profession, girl…Ben thought, annoyed.

Wait… 'The undiscovered country'? Metaphor for Death? Why that's brilliant…Goddamn the bastard, he does it again.

"I'll go and see him, catch him off stride since he'll be expectin' you to storm in…"

"And what, become his next serving wench? Wid' me to follow? Did I mention he'd offered me the position?"

"Nay. And as usual, you'd told me nothing of your plans here." He frowned. "If we are partners…"

She put up a hand… "I'll not be tellin' you what and how to write…Much as I'd prefer a few less 'shrews' to embarrass me…"

"That wasn't you, Anne…Well…Not all of you…" Will, slight grin at end.

"Makin' me ready to let the twit aristo vamp take ye, bastard." She glared. "But if I'll not be tellin' ye how to be about your business, then you be well to be keepin' yer nose outta mine."

"He won't kill me, Anne. He will kill you." Will noted, firmly. "But nothing says we must play the scene his way…"

"Here's the girl, comin' back…" Ben interrupted, spying Bella coming out of the anteroom down the hall.

"No doubt his Lordship has asked her to stress the urgency of the appointment…" Shakespeare noted. "Poor child, we have to do something for her…"

"Let me kill the twit…Best thing to be done for her." Anne noted.

"I can't bring ye back from the dead either, Annie…" Shakespeare eyed her. "He's ready for you, don't go chargin' in there like a fool."

"Will you forever be throwin' that one up in me face, Will? One time I was too angry…But…"

"More than once…And more than once I found and thought you dead…" he regarded her. "Let me take a bit of the risk once. You'll yet get your chance to do the savin'…You know it's the best way."

Anne staring, tears in her eyes…Will…

Shit…Jonson thought. The dramatist in me can't resist this romance while the jealous fiend demands I never allow this to see the light of day.

Well, compromise and put one Jonson in as romantic hero…Good enow.

Yet, a tale of one somewhat promising…Somewhat…Playwright's heroic and tragical demise, penned by none other than his dearest friend, Ben Jonson…The greatest playwright of English letters, ever…

Sure twould be pure gold…

Unlike that Undead twit, I've no need to steal another's work…

Borrow, perhaps…That "undiscovered country" metaphor was just too good…

…

I cannot understand how that wench managed to defeat so many skilled princes of the night…DeVere frowned at the flames of the fire in the anteroom's chimney. She seems as ungainly as a donkey in harness to a thoroughbred. Even if that's a bit generous to Master Shakespeare who, regardless of his admitted talent, is certainly not a thoroughbred.

Still, she clearly has something…And it was enough to capture Shakespeare…

Odd, anyone can see she's older…Was that it? The experienced country wench took our young genius by storm when young and vulnerable?

God, how thankful I am to be free of all that…Only the lust for Unlife, and by default, blood, and the lust for Immortality of the truest sort driving me now.

Lets see…He looked about the small room…

Nice, must ask Robert about his decorator before his head hits the basket…

Once she secures Shakespeare in safety, she'll no doubt try a clever entrance via the rear or even the window…Yes, nice touch…Rather than…

A knock… "My Lord?" Shakespeare's voice, rather a bit hearty…

Hmmn…

Ah…Yes…Smile…The lure…

I open and the Slayer is waiting to…

He threw the door open, quickly shifting to side, just out of sight.

"My Lord?" Shakespeare called, peering from the hall. "Your mad here asked that I come…? Urgent, she said."

"I said that…My Lord." Bella, wanly. She just beside Shakespeare.

"Edward?" Essex' hearty voice…

Oh, shit… DeVere turned to see Essex entering from the strategic rear door.

"You must come…Our friends are all a twitter over the play. Ah, Shakespeare…" Essex eyed the playwright who bowed low…

"My Lord Essex…"

"Yes…Your play's having a rather good run, I say…Though bit tough going with all the dratted thing in rhymes. My suggestion to you is to write in good stout English prose…Forget this tripping of lines about the stage."

"I shall…Consider your gracious advice, my Lord." Shakespeare noted smoothly.

"Robert…" Oxford frowned.

Really neither the place nor the time…

"Master Shakespeare and I have some…Business to attend to…"

"Yes, yes…" Essex sighed. "The mundane matters of the coin…You could have my steward attend to that. Be a good fellow, Shakespeare, and wait a bit. You'll get your payment, on my honor."

"Already well-payed, my Lord." Shakespeare noted. "Just discussing the future with My Lord of Oxford."

Future? DeVere blinked.

Why my good fellow… You have none.

"He's offered to sponsor my works…With a bit of help on the background and so forth…" Shakespeare, smiling at Oxford.

How…Clever… Oxford glared.

"Capital, captital." Essex nodded. "But lets us to more important and immediate matters…Edward? There's a rumor the Queen has spies in our midst…"

At least a half-dozen, Bob…For Heaven's sake, Eliza is her father's daughter and takes no chances…DeVere eyed him.

"And more…" Essex, betraying a hint of nervousness under the posing…

"Rumors of the Queen's Guard on the march here?" Oxford, faint smile.

Stands to reason if there are spies about us…He noted to Essex's somewhat stunned look.

"We must be seen among our friends with complete disdain for such tactics…" Essex noted, eyes flairing.

Yes, well…One of us has complete disdain…Having nothing to lose… DeVere smiled back.

"Pray let me withdraw. We can settle our business later, my Lord…" Shakespeare noted quietly.

Being clever, eh, peasant?…DeVere frowned for an instant then relaxed.

Whatever the Slayer was planning, young Robert's gone and cocked it up…Unless she wishes a public spectacle of a battle.

He does have his uses…Did…Did have his uses…

"Oh, no…" Edward smiled. "I must insist you come with us Master Shakespeare…Receive the applause of the audience and all else of that which is due you."


	13. Chapter 13

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part XIII…

"Ha, Ha! Keep time: how sour sweet music is,  
When time is broke and no proportion kept!  
So is it in the music of men's lives.  
And here have I the daintiness of ear  
To cheque time broke in a disorder'd string;  
But for the concord of my state and time  
Had not an ear to hear my true time broke."

A despairing yet wanly amused "newly deposed ex-King Richard II" noted to the strains of rather broken music as he paced his on-(improvised)stage cell… "I wasted Time and now doth Time waste me…"

The audience, in spite of increasing nervousness due to circling rumors, watching intently, enthralled…The haunted mood only increased by the flickering candlelight of the room…Twilight now descending fully outside.

And, naturally all windows well-shut both in deference to the needs of the actors and the Earl of Oxford who had a rather unfortunate aversion to the light of day…Due of course to his delicate condition…

"Is that some reference of yours to our need to be astir?" Deveraux eyed Edward who sighed.

Lord…Did Lord Dudley pay no attention at all to his stepson's higher education?

"Yes, well caught, my lord…" he noted, slight nod. "But let's let our political messages have proper time to sink in, Robert."

"Indeed…I just hope these stout fellows have the ear and soul of the poetical about them…" Essex noted complacently, noting their various followers about the room. "They're good lads, indeed, but such matters as sensitive souls such as our own can experience may be lost upon them. A pity, of course…"

"Of course…" Oxford, wry nod.

Indeed a pity I won't be able to preserve his amusing stupidity for future generations…My own generations, that is. Oh, I will almost regret seeing you face the chopper, Bob…You're just too entertaining to lose, really, old friend….DeVere, repressing smile. But seriousness returning immediately as he looked for the Slayer who had resisted his almost, nearly soulful charms…Seeing her, once again, with that traitor to her true kind, Frances, further back from the stage across the room. She eyeing him grimly…As he glanced for her benefit to Shakespeare, now seated beside Essex, who'd in his odd, mercurial way suddenly seemed to have taken a shine to him…

Hah…DeVere allowed himself a slight grin back… Whatever little ambush you'd planned to counter my own, Slayer…I now hold the King of Hearts. Your heart…

The milkmaid…The peasant girl…Resist me? The divine Edward? With this swain's good looks, my pensive air of some mysterious romantic secret hanging about me, these soulful baby blues. He batted eyes at one of the few ladies scattered about…One of Southhampton's so-called "mistresses"…

As if that fellow could make proper use of one…

….And my rather nice estate, known throughout England…Why I'm a tremendous catch, girl. Even if, as my dear "cousin" (far more many times removed than her family could ever conceive) Bella has learnt to her wretched misery, there's a heavy price to pay in winning me.

Please, hardly plausible… More of the nature of her clearly being far too coarse a grain to appreciate my charms. No doubt a bit of a mental defective…One would really think her time-hallowed Council would take care to find suitable employees…Lord only knows what gaucherie she might commit given her super-powered ability to ignore consequences.

Well, all right…That would be a turn-on…

And yet…She has won the heart of this little fellow and even I can't deny his genius…He eyed Shakespeare briefly.

I wonder…What did the little fellow and his ungainly cow have in mind just now? I did expect she'd come charging in his place, and had my men in position…Real men, too, sure to make her hesitate just long enough…But it seems he's aware of her "work" and had some little scheme in mind to give her a fighting chance. Till dear ole Bob lumbered in to muck all up as usual…

Well, given neither of us is quite ready to act, may as well enjoy the play…My play…He beamed, patting the sealed pouch inside his belt.

Shakespeare clearly rather preoccupied with the gentry, no doubt keeping things stable, the actors had relaxed just a bit in the progress of the play. Excepting "King Richard II" himself, Burbage, whose somewhat stunned expression registered to Anne that she'd been recognized even in her fancy dress…

Lord, it would be the self-proclaimed conqueror…Putting it to all and sundry that "Richard III" had "taken" "his Anne" during the run of Will's historical blockbuster.

Thank God, Will'd understood Burbage was just needling him for letting her get a bit high-handed in her criticisms of the performance when he'd caught us arguing in a back room, me feelin' Will far too tolerant of Dick's airs and fussin' as to the character... "Could we not give poor Dick III some shadowing of justice in his career, Will?" For Heavens' sake the man is supposed to be an out-and-out villain who kills his own wife, nephews, and closest friends. The crowd loves a good, no excuses, villain. Still, whatever the little preening bastard had let slip out about it, Will knew I'd given no cause for doubt. I mean…It's the family business…Not about to let a ham actor bollocks up a sure fire hit play.

And nice comeback after the gossip flowed…That "Tell Richard that William the Conqueror was before Richard the Third…" she smiled briefly.

Like everyone doesn't know Burbage's keeping a sweet young boy of twenty in Moorlands…Though to be fair, Dick's not a bad husband and despite the blowhard manner and the fixation of his attentions elsewhere at times, reasonably devoted to the Missus and children.

And to be doubly fair, he didn't mean for the story to get round to such an extent and did deny it later without threat from me, even. And now seems more worried here than eager to try and make a very public move on his collaborator's wife.

"Lady…Anne…" Frances hissed. "You're getting too excited. People are staring. Cultivate a more relaxed air…And do sit down. You look like you mean to commit murder."

"Right…" Anne sighed, trying to calm, taking seat again.

Well, right…I do. But not here in front of the gentry, howsoever much doomed by their foolish politics…

"Why is your husband with DeVere and Essex? Is it a plan?" Frances whispered nervously.

"Certainly." Anne nodded.

Of course there's a plan…Sort of…

Damn it Will…I coulda taken him, away from this crowd. Now, the little rat's got you right with him.

"Pardon me, my Lady…" she rose and moved up toward the front row of seats, Francis staring anxiously…Several of the audience eyeing her and her anxious face…

My word, she's not carried away with that fellow's portrayal is she? It's just a play…However good the actor is at bringing forth Richard's tragic romantic….

….

"I see your dear wife is about to join us, Master Shakespeare…" DeVere whispered, after looking back to see Anne pressing on. "I hope your play hasn't made her anxious. T'would be a pity to interrupt such a fine performance…" he smiled.

"Anne tends to identify with my characters, your Grace. She has a most compassionate nature. Perhaps we should go and discuss our affairs in private? I think what I've to say will be of interest…" Shakespeare whispering back.

"By all means…" DeVere, nodding, rose to the side of his chair quietly, quietly begging the pardon of the viewer immediately behind. Essex looking over at him…Edward?

"Master Shakespeare and I need just a moment, Bob." DeVere, apologetic tone. "We'll return shortly."

Yes…Essex, frowning nod.

Anyone can see the man is a skillful wordsmith but Ed is far too indulgent of this little popinjay and his so-called genius…

Will…Anne stared as Shakespeare likewise rose, following DeVere…

What the devil are you doing…?

A thought rather less selflessly echoed by Ben Jonson, watching from his wing corner…

What the devil is that sneaky bastard up to…? And I mean the bald one with the Amazonian wife.

"I trust your wife does realize the extreme danger you're in should she attempt an attack on me just now…" DeVere casually whispered to Shakespeare as they moved to a beautifully carved side door, Southhampton puzzledly glancing over, Essex still frowning, after them.

This support for the arts thing is all very well…But, we're moving into the critical moment here…

Unless of course…Well, one knows what they say about actors…And Ed, while no slouch at keeping a pretty young thing or two at hand, isn't exactly what I would call the most manly of men, fond of him as I am, he eyed the two as they left through the half door…

Oh…He noted a hurrying Anne likewise making for the door…

Yes? A threesome?…Well…One should be tolerant of human frailty whilst one is able to be…Naturally once Her Majesty sensibly retires after naming me the power in the land with title of Lord Protector, I will have to uphold the moral fibre of the kingdom.

Then again perhaps given his delicate condition, Ed just likes to watch?

…..

"Will!" Anne called in the hallway…

"Slayer…" DeVere wagged a finger at her. "You've no reason to be concerned. Your husband requested a meeting with me, presumably to negotiate for you?" he eyed Shakespeare. "Why not let the men handle these affairs. We'll call you when you're needed. I suggest you go enjoy the rest of the play."

She tensed but noted the bowman in the upper balcony, above the hallway, cross bow trained on her.

"Yes, one of mine." Nod. "But I could have had him or one of my others kill you, or at least try. Be reasonable, Mistress Shakespeare…" smile.

"Anne, I'll be fine…Just wait." Shakespeare called to her.

"I'll wait here and if he's not back, alive and warm in ten minutes…" Anne glared.

"On my dear mother's soul…" Edward raised a hand solemnly. "Bella!" he called to the ever-waiting Bella standing by the door to the great hall. She rose wanly…Eyeing him…

"Fetch Mistress Shakespeare anything she might like while she waits for us. I'm sure you must be thirsty and famished". He noted to Anne. "Then go to Lord Essex and tell him we'll rejoin him shortly." Master Shakespeare…?" he indicated the anteroom from which he'd emerged earlier.

"Your Grace…" nod.

Anne, mixed look of wrath and fear at Shakespeare…

Willum, you die here tryin' to show off and I'll show you what a shrew can be…Throughout Eternity.


	14. Chapter 14

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part XIV…

Jonson, still keeping among the off-stage actors in the left wing of the improvised stage, having watched Shakespeare and DeVere slipping through the audience to the hallway door…

Now what's that to be about?

Not quite sure if it be in my own interest for Will to kick off just yet…But Anne must be with him, he's not likely to come to harm.

Not yet anyway…And not at that fop DeVere's hands…

Unless I've made my arrangements with the wrong demonic Lord…

Still, best to leave it in the hands of God and a competent professional, namely Annie…

"Ben?" Hemmings had come by him, whispering. "Do you know what's Will about? He's not gone and left us, with that pretty boy, DeVere?"

"No, no, Johnny…You've nothing to worry about. Will's just putting in a word of thanks and selling the notion of artistic support. You know DeVere's a patron…" Jonson whispered quickly.

"Support? From the gallows? Look, Ben…" Hemmings hissed. "Half the gentry here are looking to flee. I've had word from a few kind enough to warn an actor that the Queen's determined to bring Essex to heel or worse. She could order the guard in at any moment…"

"Then best to finish and leave as soon as you're done…Take heart, Her Majesty likes actors." Jonson noted. "'Cuse me, John, I'll see what's about." He moved off, Hemmings looking anxiously after him.

"Let us know, Ben…Soon as you can…" hiss…

Jonson, off-hand wave…

"All very well for these 'geniuses'…" Hemmings sighed to a young actor in female garb, the same who'd inquired about the situation earlier. "A man must think on his family...And mortality…"

"You think we'd do well to go, John?" the young actor asked, anxiously.

"No, best to do as Ben suggests…We don't need to be offending Lord Essex. We've just a bit to finish. But lets be ready to pull stakes as soon as Bolingbrook makes his mea culpa as to poor Dick. Hopefully Will'll be back before then."

"Right…I'll tell the lads to start folding up…" nod…Hurried rush away.

God, Will…Don't let us find you're indulgin' your love of tragedy here, in the real life…

Not to say the fall of a fellow like Essex isn't a bad theme for a play in a few years, Hemmings pondered. I imagine Burbage in that role but I could do Lord Dudley, bless his good soul, with pleasure. And of course with all due respect to Her Majesty…Not a hintin' of scandal between 'em. Temptin' as it might be to at least hint at the mystery about Dudley's wife's death.

…..

The small, balconied room where DeVere had previously intended to ambush the Slayer…

Shakespeare eyeing Oxford carefully…Bella wanly guarding the door just outside, watching an anxious Anne waiting down the hall…

"Well?" DeVere regarded the playwright…

To let him speak or just snap his neck now, that is the question before me. Still, confident as I am of defeating his Slayer wife, t'would be ironic to win all and be staked in an instant due to a burst insane rage on her part. Besides, perhaps the little fellow has some fascinating speech to render that I can make use of later on…

"I am all attention…What did you wish to propose, Master Shakespeare?" warm smile…

"You seek to take my fame from me, my Lord…Including that which I do not yet hold." Shakespeare began… "Using my work…"

"I've no need of your work to garner fame, Shakespeare…" frown. "I am Oxford…"

"You wanted a complete copy of 'Richard II' in order to copy it yourself…Master my style, claiming it as your own."

"I wanted the play to study, yes…But I've no need of your feeble verses to achieve renown." Oxford sneered.

"Then why bother with me…?" Shakespeare smiled.

"You're husband to the Slayer, dear fellow…Oh, I do truly admire your work…But it's your wife I want."

"I beg to differ, my Lord. Though thanks in my wife's name for the compliment, cursing you in my own."

"Peasant, do not push me too far…" DeVere, annoyed.

"You've yet to hear my offer, my Lord."

"State it, then…Quickly…"

"I'll continue my work…You'll patronize our company. Anne will see you're supplied with animal blood to sustain you. You'll refrain from taking new human victims…"

"Indeed…" DeVere, amused.

"And I'll give you lessons, my Lord. Surely you would prefer to see what you can accomplish on your own, you're a good poet…" Shakespeare lied. "You'd have the fame of patronizing the finest actors in England, the Slayer's guarantee of safety, and a chance to immortalize yourself, by your own hand, not another's…."

"Interesting…So…I do all this and your wife kindly spares me…?"

"As long as you keep to the agreement, my Lord, yes."

"And you'll…Teach…Me…How to write as you do?"

"Certainly not, my Lord. I would help you find your own voice…Tis a fair offer, my Lord."

"Is it?" DeVere smiled. "So I am to finance your successful career whilst my own work languishes next to yours? Oh, I have a healthy ego, Shakespeare…But I'm not blind to my defects. I'll not settle to be the second or third literary light of this new era of genius…"

Second…Or third? Shakespeare blinked.

Jesu, has the fellow read his own work?

"No, I fear that will not do…" he advanced.

"Kill me and you lose what is to come, my Lord." Shakespeare noted. "And my wife will see to it your 'immortality' is quite mortal."

"You dare…You worm, you peasant. Lord Essex may be a fool, but he had the right notion about you…Ahhhh…" he covered himself against the cross Shakespeare had pulled from a pocket and raised.

"A crucifix?! You papist traitor!" DeVere cried, backing away…

"I'm afraid I am a Catholic by conscience, my Lord, yes…But not a traitor…." Will, firmly holding crucifix in hand.

"I too have my secrets, Shakespeare…" DeVere, averting head. "I happen to be a free-thinker…" he struggled forward. "No…Mere…Ornament…Of accursed Rome…Will…Stop…Me…!" he insisted, covering eyes with hand.

"Ahhh…You motherfucking!…What?" he stared at the stab and burn line on his upturned hand and the sword in Shakepeare's other hand. "That can't hurt me…"

"Afraid it can…Wood, dipped in holy water, my Lord." Will, calmly. "It's normally a prop but I treated it backstage. Nice silvering, eh? Looks just like the real thing…"

"Hardly sporting for you to be armed…And I with nothing…" the vampire eyed him, backing a bit…

"I think the odds, until my wife should show, remain well in your favor my Lord…Excepting that I possess something you want." Shakespeare smiled, keeping sword up.

"Yes, well, really you ought to have put male pride aside and called her in, you churl. No weak human can fight a creature of my power. Nor a peasant a noble of my name and house."

"I certainly don't expect to defeat you, my Lord…I believe I've made it clear I am here to negotiate. I still am, for my wife's and family's sake. Can we not yet do so?"

"Well…" DeVere calmed a bit… "Wise of you, mortal…Given you have the stance of a lumbering oaf, Shakespeare. Indeed, I'm rather glad I have no sword of mine own. T'would be an embarrassment to fight you like a gentleman…So this will have to do!" DeVere hurled a knife, concealed in his right sleeve. To his fury, Shakespeare dodging and striking down with sword.

"I actually did see a bit of service on the Continent a few years ago, my Lord. I wasn't a fit soldier for mercenary duty but I learned a thing or so…" Will smiled. Hmmn, he eyed the snapped end of his wood sword…

"You should have stuck with your mighty pen, Shakespeare." Sneer…Cautious approach, averting from a direct look at the still-upraised crucifix. "Oh…I should kill you…" DeVere glared…"But perhaps…" he paused… "You have a point. There is doubtless more matter in that weak human brain of yours yet. I may yet spare you, for a bit. But not under your terms…!" he charged for the poet, Will deftly backing and swinging to dodge him.

"Don't make me kill you, Shakespeare!" DeVere fumed as Will threw a chair down on its side to block the vampire. "For Art's sake, surrender! I'll allow you life in my dungeon, so long as you continue to produce work worthy of me. And I'll spare your wife as my new cow…!"

"I appreciate the compliment to me, my Lord." Slight bow… "But seems but a poor deal to me, as a practical man of business as well as an artist. And I can't let the insult to my Anne pass…"

DeVere enraged now, gathering to charge… "You refuse me?! Now, die!"

"Lord…!" faint cry from Bella outside…Slam on door, forcing it open.

"Time's up!" Anne cried, stake in hand.

"Damn you, Slayer! We had an agreement!" DeVere cried.

"Doesn't look as you've kept it, DeVere!" she cried.

De…Vere? He stared, now backing to a corner to cover himself from both.

You miserable cow, you milkmaid…You dare use my name to my face?

"Who the Devil out of Hell do you think you are, you worthless slut, using my family name?!" he raged. "Address me properly! Shakespeare?" he turned to Will, outrage in tone. "Take your wife in hand and school her as to how to speak to the gentry!"

"I'd say we've had quite enough of you….Edward." Shakespeare quietly.

"You little…!...Slayer!" DeVere eyed Anne. "Enough! We fight this out, now! To your Death…!"

"Fine by me…Will, you go wait outside." Anne, stake out…

"Henderson, Milner, Stuart!" DeVere cried, leering triumphantly. "My men in the upper hallway have you and your fool covered by crossbow again, Mistress! Do you never learn?! Drop your stake and submit or..." he paused at her grin.

"Henderson?! Milner?! Stuart?!"

"They're not coming, my Lord." Anne smiled serenely. "I didn't have to kill them, thankfully. Two ran outright after I knocked your randy little fellow, Milner, unconscious. Rather enjoyed that…" smile to Will.

"You …What?"

"You should learn the tricks of the theater, my Lord." Will noted. "We've quite an alphabet of hand signals, which over the years have come in handy for my missus' work, and I signed to Anne I'd seen your men in the audience leave. Your livery is distinctive, my Lord though we'd both had the pleasure with Milner and you know I'd met some of your other men at your home when you were gracious enough to invite me before to discuss your lamentable sonnet."

"My…Sonnet?" stare…

But you said it was a fine early effort…He blinked.

"I'm afraid I lied for the sake of the trade, my Lord. It was and remains, execrable. As I think, in what's left of your heart, you know yourself." Shakespeare shook head. "I'd recommend remaining a patron and member of the audience, you could win some acclaim there funding other artists over the centuries. No one will ever award it to you for your own work…"

"Goddamn you, you filthy little papist oats trader!" DeVere howled, charging…Anne leaping to block him from Will, he fell back…

"A fatal weakness, Slayer…Love." He sneered, falling back and running through the door to the hall, Anne's leap to protect Will having offered him an escape route.

"My…Lord…" A wan Bella called after DeVere as he ran…

"Edward?!" Essex and a number of his men and supporters had entered the hall, performance ended, wondering as to Oxford's failure to attend the finale. Just as Anne and Will emerged, Anne ready for a charge with stake…

"Bob!" DeVere made the most of the opportunity…Hurrying to the puzzled group…

Slayer was hardly likely to trying killing her way through humans…

"I've unmasked the author and authoress of all your woes!" he cried, stopping by Essex.

Hmmn…Never would've thought Ed could manage such a feat as running like that, Essex thought.

"Are you all right, Edward? What the deuce do you mean?"

"There! The filthy papist and his whore, Bob!" DeVere pointed to Shakespeare and Anne. "Agents of the Pope, sent to come betwixt you and Her Majesty! Seize them and the Queen will soon know all!"

What? Essex, the others, Anne, Shakespeare…

My…Lord…? Bella stared wanly.

A possible chance to actually come out of this alive? Several of Essex' supporters eagerly thought. Essex himself joining the thought after a moment's pondering.

"You mean to say this fellow Shakespeare is…"

"Look at his bloody crucifix, for Jesu' sake, Bob!" DeVere glared.

Hmmn…Pon my soul, tis a crucifix…Essex noted.

"My Lord Essex, this is a most foul lie…" Anne tried.

"Silence, you papist whore!" DeVere cried. "Bob, it's clear to me now…They have been undermining you with the Queen, for Rome's sake, no doubt in league with that devilish Jewish doctor, in part by using me, curse my trusting soul and my blind passion for Art, secretly, for months. The Pope and his foul minions know only you have the Queen's and the kingdom's true interests at heart…"

Essex considering…

Yeah…Nod…That sounds about…

Fatally compromised supporters, seeing their cause moving from near absolute hopeless to a bare chance, eagerly ready to grab the life raft offered…

My God, I could half-believe this crap myself…I am good…DeVere thought.

And after all, the man is a papist…

…


	15. Chapter 15

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part XV…

The corridor of Essex House outside the Great Hall…

Anne attempting to cover Will without clearly displaying stake under the folds of her gown…

Essex and his rather puzzled but relieved…Hey, any chance to find a way out of this trap we've boxed ourselves into by so committing ourselves to Bob over the years…Never expecting a man as close to a son as Eliza could have could be stupid enough to lose her majesty's favor…Supporters eyeing the Shakespeares from their end of the corridor, currently accused of Catholicism, rightly enough…And treason, not so…By their associate, the Earl of Oxford.

Unbeknownst to them, the more or less physically immortal Earl of Oxford, Edward DeVere…

"Surrender, you papist traitors!" Oxford demanded, standing by Essex, with nobly erect pose befitting a savior of the realm…A Noble savior of the realm…He smoothed a lace ruff on his sleeve.

Must have this scene painted sometime for posterity…Oxford nobly facing down the papist traitors with Essex by his side…

Well, Bob looks the noble hero part at least…Hyperactive dunderhead though he may be…

Hmmn…Anne pondered…

Heavily armed guards now in front of the nobles, pointing both swords and the occasional gun… Hate those things, she eyed the guns.

"Yes, surrender, Shakespeare…" Essex insisted.

Knew there was something wrong about that uppity peasant…

"Lady Anne…?" the rather foppish Southampton, to Essex's right, peered at Anne as she grimly faced the guard… Rather a tad downcast…

Though we had something there, girl…

"She's no 'lady'…" DeVere sneered. "A peasant's trollop and a treacherous Papist to boot. Guards?! Do your duty, but take them alive!" he cried, pointing.

"Yes, alive…" Essex nodded to the guards' captain regarding him… "They shall be examined before the Queen herself this very day…And I shall be vindicated! The Cecils, no doubt their employers, brought low!"

Hmmn…You know, it might actually…Edward considered.

Well, always did hope Bob might survive this, for the sheer joy of watching him bumble about, bringing disaster to friends and foes alike…But more importantly, Shakespeare must…

"Alive, gentlemen!" he insisted. "Surrender, you two! 'Lady' Anne?" he turned back to the Shakespeares, mocking tone… "Don't force us to kill an admittedly very talented wordsmith. Surely the Pope your master can ill afford to lose such a man!"

You…Anne fumed…But had to respect the various weapons trained at her and more importantly to her, Will.

"Anne…" Will urged.

"Not without you…Idiot…" she hissed.

"Surrender, you!" the captain of the guard now took charge...Signaling for his men with waves to advance and seize the hapless-looking couple…

Whoa…Lady Frances had entered the corridor from the Great Hall, the audience having become restless with the play over and various prominent members having gone off to the corridor…

Restless in the sense of…We really ought to get the hell outta here before Eliza hears about this little performance and sends in the Royal Guard…

"Lady Frances!" DeVere whirled on her… "Seize her as well, she brought the trollop here in disguise! A viper in our Queen's very closet! Oh, the treachery….!" He gave shocked look, shaking head solemnly…

Shit…When he bats those big blues of his even I might condemn me…Francis sighed.

Wow…Essex looked over…

Quite a nice little conspiracy here…

This really could save my ass and keep my lovely head firmly set on my shoulders…

Not that I ever had any doubt of the justice of my cause, of course…It's just…I've had real trouble getting people to see the light…Ole Eliza in particular…

But I just know with a papist plot to back me up, I'll be back in my seat on the Privy Council and on my way to regency-city in no time…

After all a few solid hours of torture with the royal interrogators in attendance of course…

"No!" Frances cried, trying to rush back, but seized by one of the other audience members and a hastily dispatched guard, she struggling.

Anne now letting herself be taken…No way to avoid Will being skewered or shot just at this time with the guards moving in. Will fuming but reluctantly following her lead as she made supplicating gesture of surrender and the guards seized them both.

"To the dungeon with them all! Keep them separated lest they plot further!" DeVere called to the guards. "By your leave, my Lord Essex…" he turned to Robert whose reverie of restored glory held him…Hmmn?

"Ah, yes, yes, of course…To the dungeon cells with them! Just so!" Essex agreed.

Ah, my day is really shaping up well, DeVere thought, pleased, watching the three hauled off down the corridor, Anne staring back at him with icy look.

I think…Hmmn…

…..

"No one to leave, Lord Essex's order…" a grim-faced guard in armor vest, sword prominent in left hand, eyed an annoyed Ben Jonson at the door from the improvised stage to the entry- and therefore, exit-, way of the Great Hall.

"Now see here, fellow…" Jonson began…Cut off by cutlass point, pressed to throat.

"No one is to leave." Grim repeat.

"I see…Well…I'll take up the matter with my Lord later, thank ye man…" Jonson gasped out, stumbling back to where a nervous knot of actors waited.

"Seems we are to enjoy Lord Essex's hospitality a bit longer, lads…" he noted to the troupe quickly collecting about him.

"Dear God…Are they Essex's …?" Burbage, nervous glance to the grim soldier at door… "Or…?"

"Essex's men…Not the Queen's…Yet." Jonson, somber look.

"Ben? What's going on? Did we offend somehow?" Hemings had come over from the back of the improvised stage. "I'm tole we're not to try to leave, on pain of death…All the ways are guarded."

"Death?" Burbage blanched. "But we're artists…And some of us, including me, have wives and children…"

"We were set up…" the young actor in drag shook head. "Essex is clearin' his name by accusing us of rebellion…" Anxious looks all about the stage…

"Nonsense…" Jonson, waving hands for calm. "How could that be? You were hired for a performance, that's all. He'd be implicating himself."

"Well, where's Will?" the young actor frowned. "We're being held here for a reason…A deadly one, it seems…"

"Gentlemen…" the quietly languid voice of DeVere now moving up to the front of the Hall to them, Bella wanly following. "Have no fears, I apologize for the need to hold you a bit longer. You will be compensated for your time, I assure you."

"My Lord…" Hemings approached the edge of the stage, facing him. "What is this about? Have we offended Lord Essex?"

"Not at all, Master Hemings, not at all. A fine performance as always…" DeVere smiled. "Bella, dear? Go and ask Lord Essex's steward to see that ale and mull wine are brought for our friends here, along with some meat and bread." She bowing, moved back and out through a door.

"Thanks t' ye, my Lord. But. May we know of the matter here?" Hemmings asked. "And where's Will Shakespeare, my Lord?"

"Ah…" DeVere sighed. "Now there is the heart of the matter, lads… I'm afraid Master Shakespeare and his wife are held for treason, in our glorious Queen's name."

"What?" Hemings…Burbage…Others…

Damn…Jonson sighed inwardly, trying to maintain calm…

The young actor in drag shaking head… I knew that radical play of Will's would get him and us in hot water one day.

"Have no fear, the matter doesn't touch you. In fact, I am happy to offer you both my protection and my patronage…If you'll consider it."

"We're at your service, my Lord…If the Lord Chamberlain and the Queen consent…" Hemings nodded. "But, as to Will…Treason, my Lord?"

DeVere, shake of head, sigh…

"It seems Shakespeare has deceived us all, lads. The man's a bloody papist, a spy for Rome. He and his wife have been the agents of the breech between the Queen and Lord Essex for the Vatican's evil purposes which we will, rest assured, uncover. But Lord Essex holds none of you responsible…I assure you. I assure you gentlemen that you have my word that you'll be protected from all of this sordid business." Solemn nod. Elegant raise of hand bearing snuff pinch from a box on chain about his neck to his nose…The various players and stage hands eyeing him.

And quite sincerely…I'll need your fine memories of the actors' notes for all the unwritten works as well as the talents of the finest acting troupe in England to bring Shakespeare's…My…Further works to immortal life.

…..

The dungeon of Essex House…

As dungeons go, not the worst…Relatively modern construction, clean…Given the firm grip of Henry VIII and his heirs over the last century, few notables have been able to hold many prisoners outside minor transgressors and for any lengths of time so that the cells are fairly clean and unsoiled.

However it does not lack for its share of gloom, rats, stinks, and a fine collection of torture implements are on display on the walls. Just the barest light via a few small ground level windows…

"Help! I'm the Queen's favorite lady-in-waiting! Get me out of here!" Frances cried out through her bars, rattling door. "Guards! The Queen is coming and she'll reward the man who saves me… Hey! Anybody round?!"

Lazy shits…Where's the duty guard? She frowned.

Private prisons, no accountability, no sense of propriety, she sighed.

"Lady Frances, I don't think anyone's about…" Shakespeare called from his cell down the hall, across from the one Anne was currently pacing in. "Our time might be better employed in…"

"Don't speak to me, you bloody Papist!" she cried. "How dare you drag me into this business? I'm a good Protestant…"

"Demon…" Anne called back from her cell.

"That's beside the point…And I'm mostly human and quite sincere in my faith. How could you put me in this position?!" Frances replied. "What will the Queen say?"

"'Pity they cut out the girl's entrails and hacked her head off after hanging her alive.'" Anne noted, coolly. "Drawin' and quarterin' is the way for high level treason types, right? Unless she beheads you as a mercy to a noblewoman and friend. We'll probably just be burned, small fry…"

"Anne…" Will tried.

"Well, I'll not let some trumped-up demon in a stolen body lord it over us. We've a right to be Catholic or Protestant as we like." Annoyed tone. "Though I'm rather a free-thinker meself."

"Blasphemy and treason!" Frances cried.

"Now my lady…" Will, soothingly. "Anne only meant that all are free to follow their conscience so long as they maintain allegiance to the Crown."

"Stuff and nonsense…You are radicals." Frances fumed. "I try to help you two as proof of my good intent and a favor to Willie and look at the thanks I'm repaid with… Oh, my poor mother t'would be so ashamed if she still lived." sigh.

"Eh…She wasn't your mother!" Anne, surly cry.

"In all but the giving of actual birth to my spirit…" Frances, annoyed. "How dare you?!"

"Ladies, please…" Will sighed. "Lady Frances, you might keep that wrath for better use…"

"Will?" Anne called over. "I think I might be able to break the lock open here, if I can loose myself from these chains…" she shook manacles.

"We'd still have Essex's guards to contend with. And the lads of the company are his and more importantly, DeVere's prisoners-in-all-but-name now. We can't endanger them."

"A bunch of lice-ridden actors…" Frances fumed, listening.

"Hey! Our friends!" Anne cried back. "And the finest actors in England…"

True enough, Frances reflected…Still…Some considerations must come first. As in the survival of the nobly born…At least given said nobly born's condition…

"Of course main thing is to get you out, Will…" Anne noted. "You're what DeVere wants."

"He seems to have taken a fancy to you, too, Anne." Shakespeare noted.

Frances, a bit annoyed, listening…What am I, Lady Frances Worthingham, daughter of Sir Richard and his lady? Chopped liver?

"He likes to torment Slayers and show off his powers to seduce…" Anne replied. "Not that you've any fear of me in that, Will." Earnest call.

"I know, dear." Call back.

"Oh, please…" Frances called. "He's looking for a new cow, you're it, Slayer. Now, Master Shakespeare, if we could consider something important, what did you mean by…?"

Door opening, bringing light…

A figure with candle in doorway…Bella, Will recognized.

"Mistress Bella?" he called as she shut the door and walked to the row of cells.

"Girl, get me out of here! In the Queen's name…!" Lady Frances demanded.

"Patience, my lady…" Shakespeare…

"I…Can't…" Bella, wanly. "He'd be angry." She came to Shakespeare's cell door. "I'm to watch you in case the Slayer tries to escape. I'm to hurt Master Shakespeare with this…It be a pistol, Slayer." She noted to Anne across the way, raising a pistol clutched in hand, then took stool near the door.

"Bitch! You harm my husband and I'll tear your little head from…!"

"Anne…The girl can't help herself." Will, reprovingly. "It's all right, Mistress Bella. We understand you mean no harm."

"I have to hurt you if the Slayer tries to escape…But I'm not to kill you." She noted, wanly. "I'm to die before killing you…"

"Oh, you will! I promise!" Anne howled.

"Anne! Forgive my wife her temper, Miss." Shakespeare smiled at the seated Bella who had looked at Anne with anxious expression, now turning back to him, vague smile to his.

"She's had a long day and she's rather fond of me…"

"If she doesn't try to escape, I don't have to hurt you. Please tell her not to…" Bella urged faintly.

"For now, she won't, dear." He smiled.

"Bloody unlikely!" Anne, grimly.

"Anne…"

"Fine." Tone changing immediately as he coughed.

"William?! Are you all right?! Girl, get my husband a shawl! This damp's bad for him! His lungs don't take damp well!"

"I'm fine, Anne…" he called.

"The hell you are! That's a racker… Girl, you get that shawl or your Lord and Master'll be pissed!"

"Well, I'm not 'fine'!" Frances cried. "Girl, get my Lord Essex! At once…! Tell him Lady Frances is ill and demands he see her. And something decently warm for me as well!"

"I mustn't leave, my lady….Slayer." Bella intoned, nervously. "He'd be angry…"

"Oh, pull yourself together, girl!" Frances, annoyed. "Let the Slayer out and she'll protect you. Besides, she's right. Edward will be angry with you if Master Shakespeare sickens and dies."

"I mustn't…He'll…" Bella, nervous pondering…

#$%!...Frances cried, stamping foot.

"It's not her fault, my Lady…" Will pleaded.

"It's not fair. I did what I could for you. I won't die here, with my innocent baby!" Frances howled.

"What?" Anne, startled. "My Lady?" Will equally startled. Bella wanly staring down her cell's way…

"Baby…Yes…I'm…Pregnant." Frances sighed.

"But aren't you…?" Will called down the hallway, delicately…

"Demonic spirit, human body…Quite pregnant capable."

"How can you be pregnant? You're a lady-in-waiting. You told me relations with men were forbidden..." Anne, firmly.

"And I said that was the ideal and a lot of the girls had to take recourse to dealing with such troubles…Much to the Queen's distress…" Frances sighed. "But unlike most of them I've only the one time, God forgive me. With the fellow I love…"

"You're kidding, girl…" Anne, shocked. "Willie? You're pregnant by Willie?"

"Slayer…?" Bella, vaguely disturbed. "This doesn't sound like appropriate conversation. Lord DeVere doesn't like me to hear inappropriate conversations. I'm already too defiled, he says."

"F- Lord f-ing DeVere!" Anne, grimly, calling down to Lady Frances. "You're carrying Willie's baby? My Watcher's baby?"

"Don't worry…" Shakespeare told Bella as she anxiously listened. "He won't find out from us. Tell me about yourself, Mistress. How did you come to be here, with this terrible man?"

"So?" Frances called back to Anne. "He's my feller, not yours." Annoyed tone.

Or he'd better be mine and not yours, girl…

"And you tell me this, now?" Anne cried.

"Good Lord, we're consentin' adults, girl." Frances fumed. "And your damned Council's never paid Willie a penny for his work. You've no call to rule whom he takes a fancy to…"

"He invited me…Years ago…I was plighted to him by my mother as he was a distant but wealthy relation…" Bella told Shakespeare. "He says Mother sold me to him like the cow I am…"

"He's me Watcher! And tis me damned business if me Watcher f-s a hybrid demon!"

"How dare you! Willie's put his life on the line for you, Slayer!" fume. "Though it is a bit embarrassing, given my position in Society and court. Though I love Willie dearly." Frances sighed. "I'm sorry to have lost my temper, Master Shakespeare, I'm fearful of my child. I mean no callousness toward your friends."

"Does he know?!" Anne called.

"It's all right, my Lady! I'm sure you're not a cow, my girl…" Will, gently to Bella. "So your mother thought him the current Earl and had no idea?"

"I don't know…" Bella shrugged. "Mother was very anxious for money after Father lost his fortune to bad winters and died. He says she wouldn't have cared in any case."

"Not yet…" Frances sighed. "Not really sure how to tell him…But if I can bear it out of sight and let him keep it to raise…"

"You'd give up your child…?" Anne a bit angrily.

"It's done all the time when the girl can't deal with it beforehand." Frances replied, in some heat. "The Queen would take it, cast it with the orphans, and dismiss me. She doesn't tolerate her girls breaking the rules. Besides, I'd not abandon it. Willie'd just take the main charge till I would retire from court. He's very good with children, you know." Fond tone. "We just have to keep the Queen from learning of the child till then."

"I'm sure that's not true." Will told Bella. "But you came to him to marry him?"

"Aye…" Bella, staring away…

"She sounds like a bloody monster like her father." Anne called to Frances.

"Mistress Shakespeare!" Frances, shocked. "You speak of the Queen! It's not her rule, the Court is required to maintain standards. She'd be disgraced throughout Europe. Even though the French are like…God…Babies dropping like flies…"

Hmmn…Will pondered, listening.

No, not really suitable for the stage….Still…If one changed the setting to a foreign land and made it the Queen herself pregnant…

On the other hand, he eyed Bella's nervous look under her lassitude…This one, if we could get the story of a sadistic nobleman past the censors, even without the vampire bit…

"Nothin' but a lot of bloody hypocrisy…" Anne shook head.

"Perhaps…" Bella, vaguely to Shakespeare. "I could call a guard…Tell him you're ill and in need of a blanket…" wan smile.

"Tis not the Queen's choice and I did violate my oath…" Frances sighed. "But t'was only the one time…Dear Willie meant no harm, it was me…" shake of head. "I was lonely, in love, and foolish."

"With Willie?" Anne, tone of disbelief…

Wait, what's with that milksop of a girl and Will there…? She peered across at them.

"What's that to mean?!" Frances, angry now. "You may be the Slayer but you've no great credit to your name else. Yet the greatest playwright in England loves you… Why shouldn't a gentle soul like Willie have won my heart?!"

"Sorry, girl." Anne called. "Just hard to see Willie that way… Will? You all right? Girl, is me husband…"

My Husband, girl….

"…all right?"

"Some might say the same of you, Slayer…" Frances groused back.

"Oi!" Anne, fuming.

"I'm fine, Anne. Thank you, Mistress Bella, but there's a bit more, isn't there?" Will to Bella, gently.

She looked away, clearly embarrassed.

"He's a handsome fellow with a sincere air. You're not to blame for falling in love with him. You did, didn't you?" he eyed her.

"Yes…" sigh. "I loved him. He was so kind when I came and I was so afraid. He said I was beautiful and he would love me forever…"

"Men do that often enough…" Anne, turning back to them.

"But he meant it, Slayer…" Bella, some eagerness now. "And I…"

"Oh…" Anne, hard look. "You accepted the 'gift'?"

Bit of a vamp's slut are we, eh? Grim appraisal…

Yes…Bit too winsome and appealin'…Will's a good heart to pity the lass but time to nip this tete-a-tete in the arse.

"I…" nervous look. "He said we could be together, forever. If I would join him…If I loved him enough. He was so lonely and he said he would wait for me to decide. And…He did…Months."

"But you did, in the end…" Anne frowned, listening. "What, you had no thought of what it meant? That you'd be a killer too?"

Little Mistress Innocent…Uh, huh.

"No…" Bella protested feebly. "He never killed that I saw…Then. He said he never killed or harmed unless it involved an evildoer. 'I'm a vegetarian, Bella.' He said."

"Really?" Will stared.

Snort from down at Frances' cell…Anne across from Will in her cell clearly of Frances' opinion…

"He told you he was a vegetarian vampire?" Anne, incredulously. "And you believed him?"

"Anne, sweet…She'd probably never heard tell of the Undead…" Will noted.

"What, she thought he drank plant sap?" Frances chortled.

Ay, good one…Anne grinned.

"Will, dearest? You sure you're all right?"

Concerned as I am, truly…Never hurts to do a bit of the sweetness and winsome bit oneself. Not to say that that "shrew" business is anything true to life but things do get tense and I do have a temper at times which I may…Just possibly let out of hand…Rarely.

Never did trust this one…She eyed Bella. It's always the milksop "victims" who can't wait to sign the vamp contract on the line… And enslaved she may be but I see she's still careful as to dress and hair…

And I am damned sweet…And winsome within reason…

When it's called for…

"I'm so ashamed…I'm sure I was foolish to trust him so…" Bella sighed to Will. "I deserve what happened, he says…Maybe…" she brushed long hair back with hand…

Eh…I know that move with the hair, Anne thought. Done that move and with Will…Why that little…

"No, not at all…" Shakespeare, to Bella kindly

"I do harm to others in his service…" she shook head sadly. "I do as he bids, forgive me, sir…"

"Oh, I'm sure you not done that much…" Shakespeare began…

"Oh, Lord! Will! Enough! We'll kill DeVere and free you, girl but you'd better be of some use!" Anne called across. "My husband may indulge hisself, but I've no time for coddlin' wanna-be vampire's whores. Oh, don't be lookin' at me like that Willum Shakespeare… Who knows how many she's killed in his service?"

"Anne…!" Will, reprovingly as Bella wept softly.

Perhaps just a bit harsh, Slayer…Frances thought.

"Twelve, ma'am…But I never wanted to…" Bella, sadly. "He…"

"Twelve?" Shakespeare eyed her.

"I believe so, sir. To protect him, sir…Though the milkmaid and the butcher's boy were just for fun, he said…" Oh…She reflected. "He had me do it so as to see the maid's father blamed for the crime. That would make it thirteen, I'd reckon, sir…"

That pale little…? Frances blinked…

"There's your innocent lamb…" Anne noted, archly. "You'll find her cutting your own throat when DeVere's done with you. You'd've done that for him, eh, girl? You poor vicious little killer…"

"Only when he commanded, ma'am…" Bella, pleading tone. "I can't refuse him…I'm sorry, ma'am…"

"She should tell you of the time she let a Slayer have it in the back. Eh, Bella?" DeVere's amused voice.


	16. Chapter 16

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part XVI…

The, rather modern for its era, complete with flushing latrine and piped water, private dungeon of Essex House…

Though given its private nature, currently subject to the poorly restrained whim of Robert Devereux, current Earl of Essex, and a man of such mercurial, often childish, temperament as to have antagonized even his rather loving and generally indulgently tolerant, though by no means unrestrainedly so, Queen and that it also came equipped with the latest in late 16th century torture implements, it was debatable as to its desirability as a place of incarceration…

Add to the fact that Devereux's current house guest, charged with the care and maintenance of the current dungeon occupants was Essex' close friend and associate, the rather sadistic (out of public view) if always charming and cultured Earl of Oxford, his sadistic streak sharpened exponentially by his vampiral nature….And the dungeon might well be said, as many had, in the security of their own minds and homes, after the hideously brutal examination there of the Queen's Jewish doctor, to fit more the reign of her illustrious/infamous Neroian father, Henry VIII.

In short, for the just-entering Edward DeVere, sole Earl of Oxford for the past 250 years, a most charming place…

"Enjoying your new accommodations, Slayer?" he sneered to Anne as he moved down to her cell from the doorway, fresh-lit torch in hand. He handing the torch with grim look to Bella who, sheepishly bowing as she rose, took it and placed it a sconce on the wall by Shakespeare's cell.

"I've gotten out from, and killed owners of, worse, DeVere." she replied.

"Spirit…I so like that. Sadly lacking in my current significant other…" Edward smiled, cold flick of eye to Bella as she hesitated…He nodding for her to retake her stool seat by Shakespeare's cell.

"DeVere, let my wife go and we'll come to an agreement…" Shakespeare, from the door of his cell, urged.

"Not a chance, Will…" Anne called over, shaking head. "He'll not be stealin' your work if I've any say."

"Really?" DeVere, amused. "I rather think after I'm done with you, you'll think differently. I think, in fact, you'll be so eager to please me, you'll happily torture or deceive your husband to make him work at his best. Though I think having you threatening to harm your own children in, where is it? Strafford? Should be sufficient to keep him in line."

"Keep talkin', bastard." Anne, quietly. "I'll enjoy killing ye all the more…"

"My Lord, as a lover of the Arts, which I still take you for…" Shakespeare, earnest tone… "…this is unworthy of you."

Anne rolling eyes…Frances likewise in her cell…

"Hmmn…" DeVere considered, rather obviously mocking… "You make a good point, Will. If I may be so bold since you established us on a first-name basis earlier…" icy sneer. "Best to just have your wife cut the little dears' throats and bring me their blood preserved in ice…Have you heard tell of Sir Francis Bacon's experiments in preservation through cold?...No? Well, I'm sure it's the wave of the future in keeping food from spoilage. Yes, that's a finer way….No need to torment you with false hope…"

"My Lord…?!" Frances called. "Please, you'd do well to release me, in your own interest… The Queen will inquire of me…I can't speak of this, you know that."

"Such cowardice..." DeVere sighed. "I beg you, Shakespeare to believe it is the demon within her panicking, as much as the mother…A true noblewoman of her house would never disgrace herself so…"

"Let her go, my Lord." Shakespeare urged. "She can't speak for fear of the Queen's wrath and you know she's with child. Consider it a gracious act to win our trust…"

DeVere, cold glance… "Indeed…Frances? I could count on your silence?" he called.

"I'm so sorry, friends…" Frances, weeping a bit. "I must protect my child…"

"No…I'm afraid the thought of devouring whatever it is you may spawn is just too intriguing…" DeVere chuckled.

"My Lord, for my child's sake, I swear I'll say nothing…"

"If that treacherous creature speaks again, go and shoot her in the legs." He told Bella coldly. She nodding…

"Enjoy yourself, DeVere…" Anne, calmly. "You've not yet learned what a Slayer, or pain, is…"

"Now, Anne…" Edward turned to regard her coolly. "I plan to make you very happy for many years…Why, I may even offer you eternal life. But, I understand a mother's feelings. I had one, long ago."

"Who mourns what she spawned, I'm sure…"

"Hardly fair, Slayer…I didn't ask for this fate. I was rather a saintly child in my human days…"

Lord…Frances, listening, rolled eyes but mindful of Bella's instructions, held tongue.

"Not as I hear tell, Edward." Anne noted. "Me sources tell me you sought out a vampire to sire you…"

"Indeed. Could I, knowing a chance of immortality existed, deprive the world of this?" Oxford waved hand over his form. "But, so that you know I'm not simply vain and that I hold no petty grudges, my offer for you still stands. Join me voluntarily, Anne…And I'll grant your husband a natural life, under my protection and shelter. You may settle your children, as you wish, with family or elsewhere…Tell them to hide them even from you, if you like. That dear wretch Frances can bear your message…You see, seven lives, generously spared by me. Why, I'll even let dear Bella live till she collapses naturally if you like."

"I think I prefer to just kill you, sorry…My Lord." Anne noted.

"We'll see…" he smiled. "I can be quite creative in torture as Dr. Lopez learned to his agonizing misery. And at least for now, you're clearly far too loving a wife to witness such practices on your husband…And if necessary, your children…"

Tight snap of manacles…Which did not break…

"Even you will find those chains difficult to break…The finest Spanish steel, occultly reinforced." DeVere noted, archly.

"Thanks for the information, my Lord." Anne, coolly. "Now here's me offer. Run. Now. And you might, just possibly, get to France or Spain before I've freed meself, and I've not the desire to be chasing about, leavin' me little ones and Will alone."

"How…Generous…" he smiled, giving mocking bow. "Well, I must to my friend Robert and work out a proper examination schedule. You may have the good fortune, Shakespeare…" he turned to Will… "Of having a representative of Her Majesty's present. We shall see. Lord Essex has sent to the Court to tell of this sordid treason and, much to my own surprise, his business may yet end happily for him."

"If he knew you…" Shakespeare noted.

"Oh, don't wish that…Robert is far too amusing to kill." DeVere grinned. "I look forward to enjoying his disastrous influence on England for a few years yet. I must thank you both for being the cause of saving his delightful neck if all things do work out today. Well, I shall see you both later. Think carefully on my offer, Slayer." He turned, taking torch from sconce, and headed back to the door.

"Bella! Please try to maintain some watch over our guests. Tell the guard at the door if they require anything short of sending messages." He ordered. Bella nervously nodding as he went out, closing the massive door with light, and consciously elegant, touch.

….

Essex House, the upstairs library…

Dreary sort of a room, it always depresses me to see all these books…Essex sighed from his chair at reading table.

Of course stepfather, though a resolute man of action whenever circumstances allowed, was always a big one for keeping up the proper accoutrements of a gentleman…And always said there were some useful things in books…Certainly helped him while away a few hours while dancing on the Queen's pleasure when he was her favorite. Helped him and the Queen herself bear prison in their younger days…

But me, I find such masses of dust-collecting tomes wearisome…

Naturally young Rob Cecil…My deadly rival for position…Loves them.

He would, the little clerk. Well, when one can't do…One reads of doing.

"My Lord…" a slight man entered, closing door behind him and pulling back hood.

"Ah, yes…" he eyed the drab little man in rather drab clothes…Not at all impressive by any means but known for his ability to penetrate even the most secure of secret places…Who'd borne several messages in happier days to the oft-beleaguered Queen to save his employer's hide from her annoyance at his waywardness.

"Flitch…Good man. I have an urgent message for you to bear, to her Majesty."

Willie sighed. "My Lord… The Queen was not eager to receive your most recent message. I was threatened with scourging if I should again bring her such, as she called it, 'twaddle and lunacy', again."

"Old fool…" Essex, irritated. "Here I do all I can as her most loyal subject and protector to help her see her danger and she forever treats me as a foolish indulgence, a mere whipping boy to dance on her favor…"

About right, I'd say…Willie did not say. And I never heard that "ole fool" remark… Glancing about…

"I can assure you she will wish to receive this note. Your reward will be great if you succeed, Flitch. And my displeasure equally so if you fail." Frown. "For the nonce, this should be fair compensation for your trouble…Till greater rewards are mine to bestow…" he tossed a bag which Flitch deftly caught.

Well, can't fault him for being stingy. Though his excessive liberality's probably what brought him to such disaster as he faces…

"I'll do my best, Lord." He nodded.

"Excellent…Go at once…" Essex indicated the door.

Can't wait to get out of here myself, he thought, rising from table.

Sure, right after I've a look about and see if my charge and my girl are still ok, Willie noted to himself, as he left, closing the door quietly and slipping away down the hall. Bit disturbin' not to have seen them in the Great Hall when I passed. And Shakespeare's boys milling about, not allowed to leave, by the guards' tellin'…

Things I do for duty, and love…And the duty doesn't even pay…

Though the love…Well…Quiet smile…


	17. Chapter 17

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part XVII…

Essex House…

A frowning Anya strolling the Great Hall, for the moment keeping out of sight of Shakespeare's acting company…They nervously milling about the stage, several of Essex' guards keeping watch. The audience likewise, for the overwhelming majority, feeling rather too intimidated by both the Essex men and the knowledge that the Queen's Guard might well be on their way, to leave. Though, a few remained confident that Essex would pull through…A mix of the resolute and the foolhardishly ignorant, a group led, naturally, by the Earl of Southhampton.

Though Oxford's pronouncement had had a brief lifting effect on both the doubters and the childish true believers... If a papist plot could be dredged up to cover Essex' transgressions… And only a few nobodies implicated…

Pity though that Lady Frances should have gotten involved with such treasonous stuff…

But it happens in the best of royal households…Certainly under old King Henry VIII it had happened often enough.

What to do? Anya pondered. I'm not to use anything that would draw Council or otherworld attention, nor interfere with the course of events…Too many powerful demon rivals of Lord D'Hoffryn's having too many historically developing irons in the fire to prevent a major conflict if she loused them up, not to mention other clients of her dark lord.

Still DH had insisted she could influence even via mere use of human interaction…Just a bit of subtle persuasion. And that failure, at least in terms of screwing the long-term deal, was not an option.

Though quite likely in this situation the human way would bring her a sword in the gut or imprisonment…Or even find her a love puppy of DeVere's, if she wasn't careful. A human, power-stripped-by-po'd-boss love puppy.

Well, such is the life of a vengeance demon. Kinda makes one realize why DH's had so much trouble recruiting a Slayer all these centuries.

I mean not like she needs superpowers…Even if a vd's does range a bit farther generally, if not so deep.

And she does have her Watchers' Council to assist her with magics.

No, the deal would have to be pretty sweet or pretty "only chance to save your beloved for Eternity".

"You, girl!" a guard in helmet and armor vest, bearing spear eyed her. "What are you doing about here? Get ye to the servants' quarter, now!"

"Aye, Captain, sir." She tried offering a little promotion. "But I work for the actors, seamstress, in fact."

He eyed her coolly.

"You there!" he called to one of the boy actors in woman's wig nervously glancing about from the area cleared for the stage. "This woman work with you people?"

Please, please be someone I know…Yes!

"Master Tomkins? " she gasped to him. "It's me, Anya Jenkins. I'm here to do a bit of costume repair."

"You vouch for this wench?" the guard addressed the boy who pulled back his wig a bit to eye Anya.

"Oh…Mistress Jenkins" the boy nodded. "You here for Burbage? He was screaming for some work to be done on his king's outfit earlier."

"Yes, I'm here…For Master B." she nodded.

Dick's a likely fellow to simply be pleased someone's here to do his mending…Taking it as his due the company keep me on hand for him.

"Oh, all right go…" the guard waved her along. "But stay with the help there."

Help? She and Tomkins eyed each other.

The artistic masters of English stage? The…Help?

And these fellows wonder they're so often portrayed in the theater as idiot buffoons and clownish thugs…

"Off wid ye, lass! But later I may have a bit of 'sewin' for ye." The guard leered.

Yeah, I'd love to sew it right up for you…Permanently…She hurried to join Tomkins.

…..

The well-appointed dungeons of Essex House…

"I thought I told you to fetch me husband a blanket, you vampire's cow of a girl." Anne called to the wan, watching Bella.

"Anne…" Shakespeare called.

"She killed a Slayer, she's killed innocents for him. Thrall's thrall but a woman should have a little spunk. Don't let her ooh, I'm such the victim act fool you, Will Shakespeare." Anne growled.

"I'll let the guard at the door know. Please, don't be angry with me. I can't resist him." Bella pleaded, moving off.

"There's nothing I hate more about vampires than how they make women betray themselves. Have a little self-pride, girl!" Anne called as Bella went to the door.

"She can't help it, Anne." Shakespeare noted. "We'll seen worse, you know that."

"Always when they think they've 'fallen in love'. Don't excuse her, Will. You all right?"

"This from the girl who said if I was ever taken…" Will noted quietly.

"I said only if I couldn't dust you…And I was distraught that night, thinkin' that one had nearly done you in." Anne, hastily. "Must we talk personal things before strangers?"

"Touching…" Frances noted, a bit archly. "But as to what you'd been saying before DeVere came to gloat…"

"And you ready to sell us out…For your demon baby…" Anne hissed back.

"Perfectly human…As far as Willie goes…And souled. Would you not do anything to protect your children, Mistress Anne?" Frances, sternly. "I'm a loving mother to be, I must protect my child. But I did apologize and I would have done what I could for you."

"Tis fine, my Lady, but…" Shakespeare called.

Anne fuming a bit…

"…As to what I was saying before…Regards keeping your wrath for better use. I thought we might use your desire to keep the Queen's favor but now that DeVere now knows you have an even better reason besides self-love to betray us at any price could work in our favor."

"I'm listening, Master Shakespeare."

"And not too wordy, love? The simpering cow will be back soon enough and we don't need a play in five acts." Anne groused.

….

Outside the Great Hall of Essex House, a corridor from the study where Willie had just left Essex with his urgent message to the Queen in hand…

"Is that so? A papist plot uncovered by His Lordship this very evening?" he addressed a rather content…Things looking up survivalwise for Essex, meaning jobwise for us…Footman.

"Indeed, Master Flitch. The scribbler Shakespeare, his wife, and Lady Frances Worthington were taken by my Lord's men. They sought to lay blame upon my Lord and set the Queen against him. A vile plot nipped in the bud."

Phew…His expression clear…

"Quite so…How lucky for my Lord." Willie noted calmly. "So, were they taken to the Queen's custody?"

"I believe my Lord holds them here, below, in his dungeons for examination by his and the Queena. They're lucky. Quite nice and very modern, far superior to the Queen's, meaning no offense…I know she has great costs and renovations are quite costly."

"So true. Well, a happy outcome for my Lord. I must be off." Willie patted the man's shoulder.

Jesus…No offense, I honor all religions…Willie thought. Held here, with DeVere about?

And he knows of Frances' nature…Sigh.

Well, a Watcher's duty is never done. Nor a husband's, of sorts.

Kind of her to actually marry me in secret, even if we couldn't let it get out. It was sweet how anxious she was to be an "honest woman" even if she had to keep it from the Queen.

Though long experience with women has taught me there's one compelling reason why a noblewoman would marry the commoner she's kept on with, she could have done as the others so often do and get rid of it or me or more likely, both.

So I've yet another duty to add…A loving father's…He smiled briefly as he walked down the corridor, carefully looking for the dungeon access or a servant gullible enough to show him the way.

Hmmn…Guards at the main entrance to the Hall… My pass allows me in and out of the House but may not explain why I'd be heading down here.

Still, given most of these fellows can read but little if at all…He felt for Essex's urgent letter in his pouch.

"You there? Where you be heading?" the nearest guard in bronze corset eyeing the little man in reasonably respectable but clearly commoner clothing.

"I've an urgent note for the guard in the dungeons." Willie waved the parchment letter. "My Lord's seal, see there?" he indicated the wax seal of Essex on the letter.

The guard eyed him, then a fellow guard come up to him.

"That's my Lord's seal for certain, Louis." The new guard nodded at the wax seal.

"All right…That way, the last door to the left. Mind the stairs, they're slippery." The original guard noted sternly.

"Thank ye, mate." Willie nodded.

Ok, then…

Lets just hope my Slayer isn't already worshipfully gazing up at DeVere from her knees…

He does have that rep as a soullessly soulful ladykiller. They say it's those eyes of his that gets them.

Lets see…Right, crucifix in left pocket, ok with glove to handle. That demon nature will out in such cases… Holy water vial in right, check. Nice hefty blackjack in inner pocket for the natural, check.

Not that either underworlder charm will do me much good if he confronts me, but it's a comfort to have something. As for the humans among his team, I and my little friend here should be able to deal, he fingered the blackjack in pocket.

Of course if he's harmed Frances and me child, I'll put the fear of God in him before he kills me. That much I swear. He stopped by the door indicated and opened it.

All this because a vampire wants literary fame…Geesh…

But I did read his last self-published sonnet before Shakespeare wrote one for him…I guess I'd want help too if I were that awful a poetical type.

…

The Great Hall, where DeVere and Essex had returned to review the changing situation…

Changing for Essex at least, and favorably if all went well.

"So you've dispatched word of all this to Her Majesty." Devere to Essex as they sat in a back row.

"I've just now sent my man with a dispatch to her. We should hear from her shortly."

Perhaps, perhaps not…Either way, I'm good.

Though it should be easier to embark on my career as England's premier literary genius if I'm not forced to do some sort of playlet involving prison or my head on the block.

Bit dangerous too with all those prayers and holy water about. And there's that risk that this one time, the King or Queen will opt for arrows instead.

Always amusing though when the crowd screams in horror at my temporarily severed head cursing them.


	18. Chapter 18

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part XVIII…

Flitch having passed the main hall guard to the dungeon entrance made his way stealthily down…

Damn my eyes, if anyone had ever told me one day I'd be a Watcher trying to rescue his Slayer…And my aristo girlfriend…Smile…From a vampire prince and his clueless idiot aristo pal…

"Who goes there…?! Hold!" a voice sternly called.

"Hallo there…" Willie, cheerily. "Important message from Lord Essex here. His seal…" he waved Essex's note.

"Give here…" the guard muttered. "Don't move." He took letter.

Right, the one educated man in the lot…Willie sighed.

Had hoped he'd have to call in some clerk or something.

Oh, well…Time to hope my clients' have kept faith with me. He pulled at cloak, murmuring…

"This is to the Queen! What's it to do with…?" the guard stared at empty space.

"You! Where are you?!" he cried as the now invisible Willie slipped on by and heading down paused at the next locked door, knocking over lantern to put it out.

Well, Miss Endora was true to her word as a witch…Though this remains just collateral on her loan, he thought, striking door to attract the utterly confused guard.

"Escape!" he cried in the dark. "Guard! The prisoners are trying to escape!"

He seemed just brave enough to…Ah, he is.

"I've passed the word up! Where are you?!" the guard looked, peering in the dark. "Hey!" he cried as the lantern struck him.

"Right here, terribly sorry, friend." Willie noted to the guard now unconscious on floor.

Pity those you were just sensible enough to call in help…He felt for the keys and quickly finding, unlocked the door and passed on down…

…

"Frances! Slayer!" Willie's voice called in the barely torch lit dark…

"Willam!" Frances eagerly from her cell. "I knew you'd come! Where are you?"

"Willie, get me out of here, now!" Anne demanded.

"There's little time…" Willie, decloaking to reveal himself…

"Willam?" Frances staring as Willam passed on to Anne's cell… "Let me out!"

First, she did not say…

"Love, the Slayer's our best hope to leave here alive…" he noted from Anne's cell, looking for the lock…Damn the key's not the same, he looked round…Ah, key hanging. "There's little time, but soon as I get her out…" he grabbed at the key and returned to Anne's cell, she stridently urging him on…

"Hurry there! Get me loose!"

"Lovely…Betray the woman who loves you, mother of your…" Frances groused.

He eyed her stricken look and hand to mouth…

"Willam, I'd not meant to say…Like this…"

"Frances…My Lady… Dearest…No harm done. But I'm trying to save us all and the Slayer's the Key here, no casting aspersions on your own abilities…."

Hmmphf…Frances glared.

"Oh, enough, you silly fool. You want to try and fight Devere yourself?" Anne groused from her cell as Willam carefully forced the cell door open and stepped in.

"Tis wiser to free my wife first, milady." Shakespeare urged. "She is our best hope to fight the Dark One. And safer for your wee babe…"

"Fine, fine…" annoyed wave of hand. "Get the woman out and then help me, Willam!"

"A moment…" Willie fumbled with the shackles on Anne. Suddenly both and the others, in their cells tensing at the sound of a door slamming shut…

"Guards! Man down!" call from farther upstairs…

Hmmn…Whomever was at the door was not the relief force, Willie realized.

"Willam, hurry!" Frances hissed. "Come on, Willie!" Anne urged, whispering.

"Just a moment, love…Slayer." Willam whispered. He backed against a corner of the cell and slipped down and then with rather feline move, rolled under the bed as Bella appeared in the hallway, bearing a blanket, pulling cloak and disappearing.

Remarkable, Shakespeare eyed where Willam had folded himself right under the cell's bed in an instant…And then vanished.

"I've brought the blanket for Master Shakespeare…" wan call. "The guards are upset, I hear them. What's wrong?" she looked about.

"You mustn't try to leave, he'd be angry." She noted.

"What's about down there!" loud cry. "Have the prisoners escaped?! Who's down there?! Surrender yourself!"

"It's just Bella…" Bella called. "No one's escaped."

"Stay where you are!" the man's voice insisted.

"Bring the blanket to him, girl!" Anne called, eyeing where Willam had disappeared.

She watched as Bella cautiously approached Shakespeare's cell. Frances trying to glance over from her cell, apprehensive.

"Where's your Master, girl?" she called. "Go and fetch him! I must speak with him again."

"Thanks, Miss…" Shakespeare pulled the blanket passed between the bars, Bella nodding wanly but glancing round.

"I think I had best stay…The guard said…"

"What's about here?!" a tall guard in armor with two others had entered the dungeon area. "Who assaulted the Sergeant?! Girl, speak up! Now!" he addressed the frightened Bella.

…

Meanwhile, above events were taking a serious turn with the arrival of a messenger from the Court…Seized by Essex's guards at said arrival with little ceremony and brought before Essex and Devere, currently consulting in the hallway outside the Great Hall. Essex rather pathetically optimistic about his chances given the uncovering of the "plot". Edward rather more reserved in his enthusiasm…

Still, one should be prepared for the possibility of success…Liza is very fond of her Bob boy and this might just possibly give her the out she'd love to…

Hmmn…Both listening to the frightened messenger's urgently gasped out, but in no way less unequivocal statement.

No…I don't think so…Devere nodded, eyeing Essex.

"What do you mean, the Queen's Guard is preparing to march?! Upon my home?!" Essex, astounded, stared at the terrified man. "Without any hearing? She refuses to see me?!"

I think he means the jig is up, Bob. And yon pretty head is headed basketward. Devere, concealing grin.

The political winds are so fickle, poor boy. Still, you're not quite dead yet. Eliza might, just possibly might…

"She's not heard of the Papist Plot of the Cecils and their ally, Shakespeare?" Essex demanded.

"Not a word, my Lord. The Cecils remain firmly in her bosom." Nervous agitation. "My Lord, I think it best if…"

"Well, I shall retrieve the situation." Essex, resolutely. As resolutely as he proceeded to disaster in Ireland, Devere noted to himself with quiet amusement. "We shall march at once upon the City, rescue the Queen from the Cecils and lay this vile plot at her feet. Call our friends together, Edward! We march!"

Devere, trying to restrain rolling of eyes…

Stop…Wait…Think, Bob…He amusedly thought. Think? Oh, no…Not this idiot.

"Of course, old friend. We march." Resolutely supportive nod.

Well, so much for the last hope of keeping your head, Bob.

"My Lord, I really think…" the messenger, desperately. "The Queen will never accept this…"

"Coward." Sneer, sweep of cloak in grand gesture. "Return…Or, stay behind with the women if you wish. Come, my friend…Tis time to save the Nation." Essex turned to Devere who pasted languidly determined look on face.

"Certainly, Bob. Certainly." Devere nodded.

So, now just have to see at what point I slip out and return to deal with my Slayer. I think I might take her and Shakespeare to France for a few years, England will be up in arms for a bit and even after I stage my latest Devere's death, I'll want to keep out of sight till a new heir can appear.

Not that there's any serious threat to the family lands and estate, my having in secret provided the Cecils with enough intel on Bob and his ludicrous affairs to keep them safely in my hands as the gracious Queen's reward, but as the word gets out, I might be plagued with a few would-be avengers I'd have to kill. Plus the Watchers' Council will surely consider me a menace to be put down after I've taken their latest Slayer…

Fun of course to be the focus of such attentions, but rather tiresome. And one could always get lucky with an arrow or gunpowder… I haven't survived this long by underestimating opponents, even foolish human ones.

Yes, France is the place for us. Really, I am doing Posterity a huge favor. Who knows what a change of venue may do for Shakespeare's genius? What he…Or rather, I…Grin…May come up with there? Ah, I can see it now in my biography "Devere: The French Years".

Idiot evil may want to conquer the world but Devere shall conquer Posterity...And the truest Immortality shall be mine.

…


	19. Chapter 19

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part XIX…

The Great Hall of Essex House…

Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, taking his moment to gaze into the eyes of Posterity…Essex smoothing lace cuffs and ruff…

His friend and most trusted associate, Edward DeVere, Earl of Oxford, by his gallant side…

Attempting gallantly to repress his amusement...As dear old wooden-headed Bob rallied the troops…

And God, what a lot…DeVere eyed the group of mostly anxious, some cluelessly heedless, some very few brave enough…And arrogant enough at the thought of confronting a mere Queen…

A bunch of pathetic weedy losers in lace and feathers…And I say that as a rather frail-looking vampiral aristocrat myself.

Though surely my sense of style is far more elegant and restrained. When will the simplicity of basic black and white lace catch on outside Espainge?

Hopefully the French will have some appreciation for minimalism, he sighed as he regarded Essex, then the motley crew of hangers-on. Ruined gamblers…Including our gallant leader himself…Third and fourth sons never to inherit…Owners of estates seized for family debt or on charges largely drummed up to the Queen's (unknowing and unwanting to know) benefit by her agents…Mothers' boys desperate to please distant or dead fathers, and of course, mothers…A handful of desperate adventurers…Sensible guards and mercenaries wishing desperately they were anywhere else and while duty bound to fight in the Earl's cause, ready to flee as soon as common sense suggested…

And of course, the vampire second-in-command, cutting a gallant and daring if somewhat languid as always, figure…

God, as a patriotic English subject, I'm rightfully horrified. What has happened to our aristocracy? But then, neronic Henry did take the best of us…Excepting me, of course.

Leading this clutch of fools to the gallows is a blessing for England…My positive Duty.

I wonder if I could persuade Shakespeare that it would make a fine tragedy. Though he rightly does tend to avoid touching on current affairs.

…

The dungeon area…

"Speak up, girl!" the lead guard demanded of the trembling Bella… "What's going on here?!"

"All the cells be secure, sir…" a guard at Shakespeare's cell door noted.

"Someone attacked the Sergeant and came down, was it you?!" the lead guard fumed, shaking the wan girl.

"Leave her be..." Shakespeare called. "She's not responsible. The man never came down, whoever he was. He must have fled on hearing you."

"I...Didn't..." Bella whispered, desperately.

"Hold her here while we report to Lord Essex." the lead guard ordered the last of the three guards. "Come Stephens, we'll have my Lord down to look into this. Don't let the girl go, Hawkins."

"No, sir." Hawkins agreed.

"Please...I should go tell my master, Lord DeVere." Bella tried.

"Lord Essex will inform him. You stay here and do as Hawkins orders till we know what's what." the lead guard insisted, softening just a bit at her woebegone stare. "If you've done no harm, you've nothing to fear."

"Yes, sir." she nodded.

"Stay on yer toes, Hawkins. There may be others tryin' to free this lot. The Papists will stop at nothing." the lead guard noted. Hawkins nodding...

The twp guards headed back up...Anne carefully eyeing the spot where invisible Willie had folded him under the bed.

"Just have a seat on the stool there, girl and don't try to move." Hawkins told Bella who wanly sat, glancing about her.

"I should tell Lord Edward...He'll be angry." she noted.

"The Lord Essex'll let him know, just keep your seat." Hawkins, sternly. She settling

"Will? The blanket helpin' ye?" Anne called to Shakespeare.

"Yes, it's much better. Thank ye, Miss Bella." he called to Bella who nodded, grateful smile.

"I'm glad, Master Shakespeare. Lord Edward didn't want you hurt."

"So…?" Hawkins eyed Shakespeare in his cell. "You're that Shakespeare bloke. I saw 'Romeo and Julie' at the Globe, twas not bad."

"Thanks..." Shakespeare nodded. "But it's 'Romeo and Juilet'."

"Ah, better..." Hawkins agreed. "You know I rather like to fiddle with the playwriting meself from time to time...Perhaps you'd care to hear an idea or two I've had?" eager note, the guard moving closer to Shakespeare's cell. "I was thinking about this epic where a hidden son of a defrocked priest turned to the Devil's Order seeks to join a Protestant order to acquire the True Faith for the power to save his father and the world from the mighty Dark Lord who's taken mortal form and seized the world…."

Oh God...Anne rolled eyes...

"Well..." Shakespeare, diplomatically… "Sounds rather sweeping..."

"Oh, I focus on character as well...Arggh!" Hawkins gasps, stabbed by Bella through the chink in his armor on the neck. Falling to floor, Bella backing from his dying body…

"You...Bitch…!" Anne gasped.

"Oh, my..." Frances, stunned.

"What the hell?" Shakespeare stared…

Though hmmn, interesting idea to have a supposedly weak girl turn out to be a mighty force of Evil, or Good, concealing her true nature till…

But, of course, poor fellow…

"I had to...I have to tell Lord Edward..." Bella murmured, dropping the knife she'd kept concealed up a sleeve. "I must go. Please don't try to escape..." she glanced round at the group in their cells.

"You killed this man and you'll pay for it, bitch!" Anne cried. "Thought you could fool me? Hah!"

"Let me out, Bella!" Frances tried. "Lord Edward would want you to!"

Bella pausing...Staring at Frances…

"No...That's not so..." she noted. "You are his prisoner...You betrayed him. I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Damn you girl! I'll see your head on a pike when the Queen learns of this!" Frances insisted.

Bella, shaking head...Apologetic sigh. "He shouldn't have kept me from leaving, I'm sorry." She hurried to the stairs and went up.

"Well, there's your sweet victim, Will!" Anne noted grimly.

"She can't help herself, Anne." Shakespeare sighed. "Hawkins? Hawkins, lad? Are you alive?"

"He's dead." Anne shook head. "Give the bitch credit, she's good with dagger. Frances?! What was that? Trying to slip out on us, again?!"

"Lady Frances or My Lady to you, Mistress Shakespeare!" Frances, angrily.

The door above to the dungeon groaned and shut…

"All right, Willie!" Anne hissed. "She's out."

"Be careful, sweetheart." Frances called as Willie slipped out from under bed, decloaking as he did.

"Mistress Shakespeare, I hope this ranks as payworthy service to your Council..." Flitch noted as he examined Anne's manacles.

"Hardly likely, Willie. They've never got round to even paying me expenses...Though I provided receipts." Anne noted. "But ye may take anything here or of DeVere's ye like."

"Slayer?!" Frances, shocked… The idea of violating personal property. Even that of the Evil Undead…

"Anne, that does seem a bit...Extreme..." Shakespeare agrees.

"Hell, the Queen'll seize everything left anyway." Anne frowned.

"That is her royal prerogative, girl..." Frances shook head.

"Suppose we get you all out first, then decide on recompense..." Willie suggested.

…

"The devil you say…?" Essex eyed the two guards, now accompanied by the injured sergeant who confirmed their tale. "Someone tried to free our Papist plotters? The Pope himself must have spies in our midst. Call Lord DeVere to me, at once, boy!" he turned to a nervous page who nodded and hurried off. "You men return to the dungeon and see no one enters."

"That girl of DeVere's was there, she was with them." the former lead guard noted. "Hawkins is watching her, she might be compromised or one of the Pope's spies."

"Too true, too true..." Essex nodded. "So hurry down and see she's secured as well. At least till Lord DeVere and I can examine her."

"There she is…!" the other guard pointed as Bella emerged from the dungeon stairway door and hurried off.

"Well! Seize her!" Essex cried. "Don't let her run off! I'll send more men down to the dungeon!"

"My word...What's the commotion?" DeVere had come from the front of the Hall where he'd been arranging with his remaining men for the securing of the actors and their escape should the Queen's Men truly march on the place. Said men rather as relieved to have such duty as the nervous actors.

Naturally, gallant hero as he was, DeVere would be staying by his friend to the glorious triumph, or the bitter end…

Either way, he'd manage to slip out…

"Edward! It seems your girl Bella may be a Papist spy!" Essex, excitedly.

"Should I seize him, my Lord?" the injured but recovering Sergeant eyed Essex.

"No, no..." impatient wave. "My Lord, it's quite true. Someone tried to free the...Edward?" as DeVere raced for the dungeon door at unthinkable pace. Smashing it open and racing on down...

My God...Never would have thought Edward capable of...

"Lord Essex! We have the little bitch!" Stephens, the junior guard, triumphant, he and another guard dragging a terrified Bella down the hallway…

"Sir! You must tell my Lord someone is trying to free Master Shakespeare and the Slayer!" Bella called, desperately.

Oops...Don't think my Lord will like my mention of the Slayer...Bella thought, squirming in the guards' grip.

"Bring her! We must get down and help Lord DeVere!" Essex commanded. "Tell us, girl! Are there more about? It will go hard with you if you lie!"

"Sir...No..." Bella tried. Her brief burst of adrenalin fading, the guards dragging her along and all heading through the dungeon door and down the stairs…

…

In the main dungeon hall…

"Shakespeare!" DeVere, furiously demon-faced…

Oh...He blinked at the group still in their cells…

Still here?

Now what the Devil is going on?

"Anything wrong, my Lord?" Shakespeare eyed him. "We heard a ruckus and your girl Bella was taken here...Killed this poor fellow here to go and tell you."

Anne, eyeing DeVere quietly…

"Trouble, DeVere?"

"Quiet, you peasant sow!" he glared. "Shakespeare, when will you learn how to handle a woman properly?"

Guess the bloom is off our would-be illicit romance...Anne thought, smiling.

"Hardly worthy of you, sir." Shakespeare, angrily.

DeVere, grimly eyeing him…

Still, man has a point...An aristocrat, even a vampiral one having a somewhat busy day, should never lose his aplomb.

"My apologies…You are quite right, a bit of a ruckus." he glanced round, eyeing Frances in her cell who stared back at him

"Seems..." he smoothed down askew hairs. "Someone has come to your rescue...Or tried to..."

"Lord Essex even suspected it might be my own dear Bella...But, I think that unlikely..."

Cries from above…

"Edward! We're coming!" Essex's voice…

"Ah, seems you're not the only one who has a dear friend coming to their rescue..." DeVere grinned.

"It's fine, Bob!" he called. "The prisoners are secure...But we'd better make a sweep round."

He returned to face Anne and over in his own cell, Shakespeare…

"You know, I almost think I'll let Bob examine Bella as to her role...I know of course she'd never betray me, not even the best of your Council could break my hold on her, Slayer. But it would be rather amusing and good practice to try..."

"Arsehole!" Anne cried.

"Leave the poor thing be..." Shakespeare sighed.

"Perhaps...If you reveal who it was who came and where he or she or they, are now?" DeVere smiled.

"Frances? This applies to you as well, dear..." he turned to her in her cell. "I might reconsider my decision as to your release if you cooperate here. Well? Anyone?" he glanced round.

Essex and three guards, two holding Bella came into view on the stairs…

"Bob! Thank God!" DeVere turned to them. "I'm fine and these traitors are secure but someone's killed this poor fellow yonder..." he indicated the dead guard.

Pity no time to scoop up just a pint or two but really after all these years, I actually do prefer the unique blood of a single cow. Especially one in the family… He eyed Bella.

Sorrowful look in his eyes immediately to meet her anxious one…

"Bella? Tell me you've not betrayed me? Sold us out to the Papists?"

"No, no my Lord!" she cried. "Never! Never! I went to fetch help when I saw the Sergeant had been struck down, after I checked to see the prisoners secure."

"And this poor man? Left to watch over you and them? How did he die?" DeVere, sternly.

"Well?" he insisted.

"Speak, girl!" Essex commanded. "None shall harm you if you speak the truth..."

"Surely it was a Papist assassin, Bella?" DeVere noted. "You could never have killed such a fine soldier..."

"Yes...Lord...A papist assassin..." she agreed, wanly.

"Now, girl..." Anne called. "Don't go all fearful. Remember yer duty to His Holiness..."

Smile to Shakespeare, who frowned.

Anne?

"His...My Lord?" Bella, confused.

"She's the best Rome has to offer..." Anne smiled. "But like us, ready to die in the great Cause."

You...Bitch… DeVere eyed her.

I think I am in Love, he smiled.


	20. Chapter 20

"Twilight for Anonymous…"

Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!

Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...

General audience level...

Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…

Part XX…

Essex, rather stunned at Anne's apparent confession…

So there really is a plot? Sponsored by Rome?

Uh, not that I thought we were scapegoating innocents to save my…Our…Precious necks but…

Whoa.

So, I am good…And that ass Robert Cecil claiming my intelligence was crap.

Eat my intelligence dust, Cecils…

"I cannot believe my dear Bella a Papist whore or a traitor to England…Or me…" Edward, eyeing the confused and increasingly terrified Bella in the guards' grip.

"Still…This matter must be examined. Carefully and fully."

"Agreed, My Lord Oxford." Essex nodded solemnly. "Agreed."

"I suggest we chain her upright in the shackles…As we did with the Jew Lopez."

Oh…Essex staring…That again? Really? Squirming a bit at the memory.

"My Lord, please…" Bella whimpered. "I've only done you faithful service."

"Bring her here, men!" DeVere insisted, leading the guards to a hanging iron helmet mask surrounded by various shackles. They dragging a weakly struggling Bella…

It really did get gruesome…I never thought Ed would have such a taste for torture. That poor old Jew's cries even made me weep.

Of course he probably was guilty…Even if he admitted nothing but to vaguely agree at the end to get us to finish him that he could have spied for Spain.

"Anne?" Shakespeare hissed. She waving him off…

"Say nothing Sister Bella! Be strong!" Anne addressed Bella who stared wildly at her.

"Sister?" Essex eyed Bella.

"No, no! My Lords!" she cried as Stephens the guard, with slight reluctance, locked her head in the hanging iron helmet and the others chained her in the arm and leg shackles. "The Slayer be lying!"

"There it is again?…'Slayer'?" Essex pondered. "Edward?"

"No doubt a trained Catholic assassin…" DeVere nodded, eyeing Anne grimly.

"Her?" Essex regarded Anne who glared back…

And why the fuck may I not be?

Though forgive me Father for calling meself a Papist, even if to my mind there's no wrong in being whatever you choose to serve God, so long as you're a loyal Englishman.

…

This be a bit of a pickle…Jonson sighed to himself, eyeing the guards watching over him and the actors of Shakespeare's troupe.

Here I, orchestrator of this whole event, to a certain extent…Trapped in me own work.

Hmmn…He pulled out a bit of parchment and charcoal, writing a quick note.

A playwright is trapped in his own work…

"Ben?" Hemmings had come over. "Any word as to Will?"

"None as I've been told, Johnny." Jonson shrugged.

"It's insane. Will's no spy, Papist or otherwise."

"I'll be glad to say so, Johnny. If anyone here should bother himself for my opinion."

"Mr. Jonson…" Anya had crept over to him.

"Nonea that, now, girl. Go back to yer mending!" a guard glared at her.

"Just taking Master Jonson's order, sir." Anya, innocently.

"I've a bit of work on this jacket…" Jonson agreed, offering view of frayed area.

"All right, but be quick about it. Take the damned thing and be off back to yer corner!" the guard frowned, waving his halberd.

"Aye, sir." Anya nodded as the guard moved off. She smiling to a younger guard who smiled back.

"Well…Can you get me out of this, girl?" Jonson hissed as he removed his jacket and shook it out.

"Here it be…Can you mend the seam?"

"Oh, most certainly, sir." Anya nodded. Aside… "I'm not here to rescue you, but you're not the one in danger. Shakespeare and his wife can't die today. Everything will be ruined."

And the Boss will be pissed not only at losing his Slayer demon but all the new plays he was eagerly anticipating…

"Then you'd best get them out, eh?" Jonson glared, hissing. "And me with them, the client?"

"I can't interfere that way. DeVere would know my Lord D'Hoffryn was involved and he could take me. Though not in a fair fight…" she hurriedly insisted. "But he's good with thrall and I am holding mortal woman's form."

"So…Is not the 'Lord of Vengeance' more powerful than some wuss vampire? Let your Lord kick his damned fangs in…"

"It doesn't work that way…There are rules." She noted. "The other guard's coming, I'll have to go. Look, we'll have to try this the human way…Let me see what I can do and wait."

"That's all I do…And all I'll be doing for the next few hundred years, lass." Jonson glared.

Oh, you'll be doing more than that Angelus…Anya thought as she hurried off.

Not that I'm privileged to know all the little details of your joint futures but D'Hoffryn has his insights and his unique ways of charging for his services…

Though it's too bad that innocent wife of Dracula must suffer for her husband's sin so…But that's afterlife, sister… And your husband should really read the fine print on his vengeance on the Turks' contract next time, Elisabete Drusilla.

But for now, exit Anyanka the vengeance demon and enter Anya the dutiful friend and heroine…

…


End file.
